


Forsaken

by VerdantVulpus



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Abduction, Angst, Anxiety, Aziraphale has to woo Crowley, Confinement, Content Warnings in Chapter Notes, Crowley Can Purr, Crowley has Depression, Crowley is Adorable when he sleeps, Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Incubus OC - Freeform, Jealousy, Love Triangles, M/M, Mean Journal Entries, Pining, Redecorating the Penthouse, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Sort Of, Strong Language, Tags will be updated, Torture, Whump, Will try to keep the NonCon to a min or make it skippable, Wooing, bad boyfriend, poor communication
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 77,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27659161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantVulpus/pseuds/VerdantVulpus
Summary: Aziraphale has quietly loved his frenemy for a very long time. It had been a simple, innocent love once, but grew overtime in its abundance and complexity. It was ever present, at times bothersome or painful, other times driving him to acts of courage he didn't think possible. Always quiet, though. There was no point sharing his feelings with a demon. Demons were incapable of love.So imagine Aziraphale’s dismay to learn that not only had Crowley loved him terribly for just as long, but that Aziraphale had missed all the signs and the demon had given up hope. Now Aziraphale must organize his own thoughts and feelings and learn how to woo a demon before Crowley moves on for good.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 192
Kudos: 249





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale finds something that he isn't supposed to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to a slow burn by VerdantVulpus. Let’s see if I can write one of these. Tags will be updated as we go, but I’ll note here that this fic will deal with some potentially triggering elements such as emotional abuse, verbal abuse, toxic relationships, and a demon who thinks that’s all fine. There will be a happy ending, but there will be angst and whump first. 
> 
> Beta'd by PinkPenguinParade (who is amazing!)

**_August, 1862_ **

_I think I knew back in Eden_. _I knew I loved Aziraphale with all my shriveled husk of a heart. Yes, yes, it is unbecoming of a demon and, one would think, impossible; possible or not, it remains true, and recently I have come to understand the full extent of the measures I would take to protect Aziraphale, and my love. Of course no sooner had I set about acquiring what I would need to put those protections in place than I discovered, not for the first time, what I fool I was! And yet, I ventured on, even after his glib reminder that I was Fallen, and therefore unworthy of his trust. Because I am a complete and utter fool, I still tried._

_"A suicide pill," he called it! Suicide! As if I would ever forsake the Earth! As if I would ever abandon him! That is how very little the angel thinks of me._

_"Fraternizing." I remember the sting of that insult too, so close on the heels of "suicide pill."_

_So I knew then how he felt. I knew that no matter how strongly I wanted him, he wanted naught but to see the back of me._

_Certainly he benefited from our Arrangement, loathsome as he would find such an admission. And I had, again and always the fool, tended the hope that this benefit to him included a similar enjoyment of my company as I have found in his. Was it only the convenience he enjoyed? The shared labour resulting in less travel, lighter workload, more time to enjoy his own pursuits? And the favours and treats I would gift him, no doubt._

_How was I to tell him I did it all for the merest morsel of his affection? The Arrangement, a chance to meet with him, perchance to sit and talk awhile, luxuriate in his company for however long he would allow me._

_Fraternizing! Oh, I burn once more! A suicide pill! He tossed my clandestine request —and to keep him safe!— into the pond and stormed off. Or perhaps I chased him off in my anger. Who was he to act so offended after casting such aspersions?_

_He left and I found myself growing so immensely tired as I watched the ducks peck at the dissolving ash of my missive and imagined it was what was left of my heart._

  
  


**_June, 1914_ **

_Aziraphale finally reached out. I received my marching orders from head office earlier this week and wondered if Heaven was going to send their obedient Principality off for some quality thwarting. Sure enough we’re both supposed to be in Sarajevo next week. I’m supposed to ensure a grenade strikes a noble’s motorcade and Aziraphale is supposed to ensure it misses._

_Well, the angel can have this one as far as I’m concerned. I’ve been having a perfectly good nap for several decades only to be woken up for this? I’ve no taste for killing humans, noble or otherwise, and my bed is comfortable._

_Besides, he made his feelings about the Arrangement perfectly clear in 1862 and as I’ve had nothing else to take my mind off the slight, I’ve found myself stewing on it instead._

_I should have dropped the notion when he first refused the Arrangement in Wessex. Every blasted time we met up he would find a way to remind me of my place in his esteem. Oh how quick he was to tell that so-called "Bard" that we weren’t friends in 1601. Oh no. Not at all friends. Although “friend” would roll off the tongue with more ease than ‘hopelessly-in-love-hellspawn-and-the-Principality-who-barely-tolerates-him’._

_And let’s not forget when I found him locked up the the Bastille dressed like an Aristo during the bloody French fucking Revolution! He was going to get his fool head chopped off and there I went, riding to the rescue (risking my own neck should Hell find out) only for him to accuse me of being behind the whole Reign of Terror!_

_No. As far as I’m concerned 1862 marked the end of the Arrangement. Let the angel go to Sarajevo and thwart the noble’s assasination. I’ve no stomach for killing, or for seeing Aziraphale and his judgmental opinions of me again._

  
  


**_September, 1914_ **

_Well, my last entry did not age well. The angel’s mission was a success, but it seems neither Upstairs nor Down can hold a candle to the willpower of humans to be absolute horrible bastards to each other._

_I wonder how Aziraphale is holding up in the face of all this? Would he still be in his bookshop or would he be trying to help out the Allies? It wouldn’t be too difficult to find out, I suppose, but to what end? He won’t want to see me._

  
  
  


**_October, 1941_ **

_I know, I shouldn’t have bloody done it, but what choice did I have? Once I got word that the Nazis are sniffing around for rare occult books and it's only a matter of time before Aziraphale got involved, right? Only I didn’t expect him to try to play at being a spy! Was I really going to just sit back and let him get shot by Nazis? I can only imagine the humiliation he’d suffer from Gabriel and the like. Of course, fool that I am, I rushed on over to get him out of trouble. Bloody typical._

_He was in a church, by the way! Consecrated ground! I was tap dancing and wincing like an idiot while my feet blistered and, get this, he got angry with me and accused me of sending the Nazis after him! Of all the ignorant things he’s accused me of. Look. I get it. I’m a demon. I’m not making any claims to the contrary, but why? Why, bloody why would I send Nazi agents to discorporate him —after all this time, first of all— and then go into a fucking church to stop it?!_

_I suppose I should be grateful that he remembered to include me in his miracle when the bomb fell. And he did thank me for saving his silly books. He certainly sounded as though he meant it. I gave him a ride back to the shop and he offered to dress my burned feet! You’d think my heart was going to explode in my chest the way it raced at that. But I’d had enough of explosions for the night and I needed to get back to the ruined church as soon as possible. Churches have holy water in them! Just sitting there in a big old bowl unattended and everything! My feet were already crispy so I wanted to see if any survived and puzzle out how to get it without destroying myself in the process._

_I wasn’t so lucky though. It was completely lost in the blast. I did manage to steal myself a new statue though, and now I have a possible avenue for getting what I need that doesn’t involve Aziraphale._

_It was good to see him today though. I wish I didn’t miss him._

  
  


**_July 1967_ **

_Somehow he found out about my heist. Someone has talked and it got back to Aziraphale that I was planning on robbing a church. He ambushed me in the Bentley tonight. I was so surprised to see him I don’t think I covered for myself very well._

_He gave me the Holy water. He handed it over in a tartan thermos of all things. Just like that, after everything he’d said. No idea why now. What, if anything, could possibly have changed? Surely he doesn’t trust me any more now than he’s ever done._

_I offered him a ride, because that’s what I do now, I suppose. He looked me right in the eye and told me I go too fast for him._

_Too fast!_

_Six Thousand Years of constant pining and still somehow, too fast!_

_I can’t even be angry with him over it. I'm a demon. I’m Fallen. I’m everything he’s been told he has to fear. It isn’t his fault he can’t love me. It’s my fault that I love him when I shouldn’t. I’m the deviant here. I’m the one risking us both for no better reason than to be near him._

_I need to stop. I won’t keep tabs on him anymore. I won’t come to his rescue or hope he comes to mine. I’ll stay in my own demonic lane and work my own temptations and I’ll keep my head down. We’re hereditary enemies who are just both rubbish at doing away with the other. That’s all. I can live with that. I can._

_I put the thermos in my safe and I’ll hope I never have to use it, but at least I have it and half a plan on what to do with it._

_As for Aziraphale, I won’t seek him out again unless I have a very good reason to._

  
  


**_July 1967_ **

_For real this time! It's been a week and I almost caved and went to the bleeding bookshop to check on him. One sodding week. What is wrong with me? Evidently I need a reminder or some kind of system to keep me from being an absolute bloody idiot so here it is._

_A warning for Anthony J. Crowley, from Anthony J. Crowley._

_It's over, Crowley. Say it with me. It’s never gonna happen. You knew it from bloody Eden. You've known all along what you are! So keep this journal handy and read it every time you get it in your thick bloody skull that a simple gesture of kindness from the angel is love or some such rot. It isn't! It will never be anything deeper than the appearance of good manners. That's it! That's the kindness Aziraphale's good shining heart shows you. He doesn't_ _smite_ _you where you stand. That's it._

_And you're right to be grateful because he could turn you to greasy ash with a thought if he had a mind to, so be glad he doesn't think of you as anything important because with your luck that's exactly what you'll get. A big ol' rod of Holy grace right up the arse and, I cannot stress this enough, NOT IN THE WAY YOU WANT!_

_He won't want to. He won't enjoy it. It might even haunt him to do it, but he will if you make him, so don't bloody make him._

_You're a demon, Crowley. You're Fallen. He's figured you’re behind atrocity after atrocity because you're supposed to be evil and cruel and dangerous. You're supposed to AT LEAST be that! You're not even good at being a demon! You're not evil, you're just bad. For these reasons and so many more, he will never EVER love you back._

_And that's probably for the best, really. Not like he's all that good at self control, running off to France in a war for a nosh, or playing spy games against actual spies._

_You put him in danger. You could get him hurt._

_Stop. Just bloody stop. Seal up your stupid heart, keep your head down, and stay in your fucking lane._

  
  
  


Aziraphale put the journal down on Crowley's enormous desk and dried his tears with a kerchief. He sniffed loudly, cleared his throat, then read the journal entries again. So few of them, so far apart in time. It was as though Crowley started the task as some sort of therapy after their row in 1862, and meant to continue but… 

He read it all over a third time before flipping through the remainder of the blank pages, desperately seeking another hidden entry, something more hopeful, but Crowley's entries stopped in 1967 with that dreadfully cold warning to himself.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale sighed, sitting back in the monstrous throne and staring out over the lush greenery of the plant room. He sighed again and rose to get the watering can.

After more than a year of being free of their respective head-offices Aziraphale had been having a very nice time with his friend. They chummed around the bookshop, went on walks or went out for dinner and Aziraphale didn't have to hide who he was with and why. It was exhilarating! They laughed and drank and talked long into the nights and Crowley would snooze on the sofa in the backroom.

Aziraphale had been having a grand time of it at least, but one day, seemingly out of the blue, Crowley announced that he was tired and was going to take a nap. Aziraphale was asked to water his plants. 

By telephone. Crowley told him he'd be vanishing away under his covers for Heaven knew how long by telephone! 

Aziraphale had been confused and hurt, but he diligently came to the solemn grey flat to water the demon's plants each and every Saturday. He did so quietly and respectfully for two months, then somewhat resentfully for one more. After that Aziraphale had begun spicing up his trips to Mayfair by peeking in on the demon (to make sure he was all right) or by snooping around his flat. He had put off snooping for quite a while but it had been seven months of this and Aziraphale was lonely and bored.

The flat was so sparse though that snooping was rather fruitless. There were no books. The record collection was in full view and hardly qualified as snooping (and Aziraphale didn't recognize the majority of the albums). The cupboards were mostly empty. For being the den of a demon the flat was, frankly, depressingly dull.

Then Aziraphale had remembered the night the world didn't end, when he had been invited back here by a half drunk Crowley while they awaited their fates. Before Aziraphale had puzzled out Agnes's prophecy, Crowley had been uncharacteristically quiet and subdued. He'd spent nearly an hour alone in his study reading something. Aziraphale was supposed to be in the sitting room drinking, but he'd gotten bored of waiting for Crowley to come back so he'd gone looking for him.

That book had piqued his interest but they’d both had much bigger concerns at the time and afterwards it had completely flown from the angel's mind.

Now though, alone in this tomb Crowley called a flat, Aziraphale remembered it and had gone in search of the book that was able to consume Crowley's attention on what could have been his last night on Earth.

He found it under a false bottom in Crowley's massive desk and was shocked to learn the book was a journal. 

He shouldn't have read it. _Obviously_ , he knew he shouldn't read it and for another month he didn't. He might have continued to politely water the plants and dust the few surfaces around the flat for months more while respecting the demon's privacy and not reading that journal. He might have done, had it not been for the white feather embossed on the leather cover.

That feather called to him as if his name were written on it. So today, he'd given in to temptation.

He wished he hadn't. He wished he could put the genie back in the bottle. Instead he obsessed over what he'd just learned and the way it changed the way he remembered his past interactions with his dear friend.

Why didn't he update the journal after 1967? The Antichrist was born in 2007 (rightfully considered a good enough reason to reach out to Aziraphale) and they had worked closely again for the first time in a long time (well, since 1862 now that he thought about it). Why hadn't Crowley updated his journal in those eleven years? 

The reason was horribly obvious. The warning worked. Crowley had given up on him. Given up on Aziraphale ever loving him anyway, as the angel remembered all too well how Crowley had tried to convince him to come away with him to the stars. How Crowley had run into a burning shop in search of him. How he'd stopped time at the threat of Aziraphale never speaking to him again.

All of that after the horrendously ugly things Aziraphale had told him at the bandstand, Crowley came back for him. Crowley stood beside him every step of the way.

And then Crowley had taken an hour to himself to read and remember his warning.

Aziraphale sighed, feeling a great weight around his heart. It was a familiar feeling he'd had for as long as he could remember. His own unrequited love for a demon who was, he'd always believed, incapable of loving him back.

He had been wrong! And Crowley had been wrong! They were both of them more than capable of loving the other, and had done for centuries in secret! Aziraphale would laugh at the absurd irony if it weren't so heartbreakingly sad.

He crept to the bedroom door and peered inside at the sleeping demon. The room was dark, the heavy curtains drawn closed so only a few slivers of sunlight traced over the cold floor. Those slivers warmed into yellow and orange tones as the sun began to set and still Aziraphale lingered by the door, watching.

Crowley was snuggled deeply in his heavy covers, breathing slowly. His handsome angular face was half buried in the slate grey pillows. The bright red hair stood out in the gloomy monochrome until the last of the sunlight faded and even that was swallowed by shadow.

Still, Aziraphale lingered, worrying about all the hurtful things he’d said and done and how he had pushed the dear demon further away. So many wasted opportunities. He had no idea how to go about bridging the gap that had widened between them.

Crowley made a low rumbling sound in his throat and snuggled deeper into the deep black blankets. For a heart stopping moment Aziraphale thought the Serpent was beginning to wake up. He took a tentative step forward but stopped himself. How would he explain his presence in Crowley's bedroom?

Fortunately, at least as far as that particular dilemma went, Crowley merely burrowed his face deeper into his pillows and continued to sleep. Aziraphale sighed, simultaneously relieved and disappointed. 

The low rumble continued from the demon though and Aziraphale lingered, listening to the soft sound. He'd never heard it before. Was this what Crowley sounded like when he growled in his sleep? Aziraphale smiled fondly at the thought. Crowley would be horrified that his sleep-sublimated growling sounded so adorable.

Aziraphale crept closer, afraid to wake the sleeping demon, but deeply curious about the noise. When was he likely to have this opportunity again? 

The rumble continued, soft and rhythmic with Crowley's breathing. A look at the demon's slack face (the quarter of it that wasn't shoved in the pillow) showed the fluttering eyelid that suggested dreams. The soft thin lips quirked into a smile ever so briefly before relaxing back into neutrality. The sound grew louder for a moment then softened again. It was too sustained to be growling and Aziraphale fairly quivered with delight when he realized it sounded like purring.

_Purring_!

Could Crowley purr? He had never heard of demons purring. Snakes didn't purr. Crowley couldn't be _purring_!

Whatever the sound truly was, it was appealing and made Aziraphale feel warm and relaxed. He gently ran his hand through Crowley's hair, relishing the softness of the red tresses sliding through his fingers. The demon's hair had grown a couple inches during his slumber, and it was tempting to play with it. Crowley shifted in his sleep, subtly raising his face to press his head into Aziraphale's palm. 

Aziraphale held his breath, realizing all at once he shouldn't be doing this. He had definitely crossed another line and he needed to leave immediately! He withdrew his hand and quit the room in a hurry. He needed to get back to the shop, back to his own space where he could afford himself the safety and stillness to think through everything he had learned today. 

The journal had been quite a lot to absorb. He'd be turning that over in his mind for quite a while. Aziraphale returned to the study and held the journal in his hands again, stroking the embossed feather with a finger. 

_Such pain and self-hatred._ Crowley tended to come across as either cocky or panicked. He certainly could be chaotic at the best of times and had a cruel streak in him that could leave Aziraphale reeling, but there had always been this unimaginable warmth and humour as well. 

He questioned everything, things he wasn't meant to question, things Aziraphale begged him not to question. It seemed obvious what Crowley had done to (supposedly) deserve to _Fall_. Questions. Questions. Questions. He was always so inquisitive and bright and resourceful. He was everything that Aziraphale had loved most about the humans. 

Aziraphale knew the demon had layers; he'd always been too kind, too attentive to be as superficial as he pretended to be. No one could make Aziraphale laugh like Crowley could, even when he was being insufferably vain.

Aziraphale knew Crowley was more than the demon let on, but he was still surprised by these hidden depths of love, protectiveness, sorrow and contempt for himself. He almost wished he could believe it was a trick, that Crowley knew Aziraphale would go snooping and left the journal for him to find and would have a good laugh at his expense.

But as nasty as Crowley could be at times, this possibility seemed improbable. It was too cruel, and showed too much of what the demon would likely classify as weakness, even in jest. 

He wrote those words in earnest, and it would be heartbreaking enough to know that Aziraphale had hurt his dearest friend so, but that wasn’t the worst part for Aziraphale.

He’d journaled extensively himself over the years and he’d penned quite a few entries that could still bring tears to his eyes when he thought of them. Feelings, fears, thoughts he’d had that he’d long since grown beyond. It might not be so worrisome to have read those entries, penned years ago, if he believed Crowley had also moved on. But he hadn’t. Crowley had read them over and over, keeping the words fresh and holding him in place — trapped in the moment he gave up on Aziraphale’s love.

And even that, horrible as it was, wasn’t the part that bothered Aziraphale most.

It was the contempt. Azirphale knew all too well the sting of contempt. He’d endured it from the archangels for eons. The constant niggling insult, the slow irrevocable grinding of their heels on his self-respect. It was the sort of abuse that left invisible scars all through him. Cracks that widened over time and he couldn’t seem to close. It left him feeling forever helpless, inferior, a disappointment. Even at his best and strongest, he still felt the shadow of their snide laughter.

So perhaps he was a touch sensitive to witnessing contempt aimed at others, and to see it aimed at Crowley was unbearable. If someone else had said these things to his friend, Azirpahale might have lost his mind on them. How dare they! How dare they make Crowley feel small or unworthy! How could anyone be so utterly, irresponsibly blind as to miss his incredible strength and beauty?!

But _Crowley_ was the one who had said them! Crowley wrote the contempt down and then read it over and over if the wear on the pages were any indication. Crowley said these vile hurtful things to himself. So who should Aziraphale rail against? Heaven for casting Crowley out? Hell for telling him his strengths were abominable weaknesses? 

Himself for feeding into it all these years?

No. He couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t tolerate a moment more of this journal's cruel, angry Crowley being the foremost in his mind. Aziraphale quickly stowed the book back in its hiding place and set the desk back as he had found it before returning to the bedroom. Crowley was still in the same spot and was clearly, unmistakably, _purring_. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale whispered, feeling anxious again. “I’m sorry to wake you but…” he trailed off. What could he say? ‘I found your secret journal and need to discuss your private feelings’? ‘I’ve just learned you can purr and I adore it and I adore you’?

Crowley snoozed on, but the purring had stopped, frown lines deepening on his face. Aziraphale nibbled his lip and gingerly sat on the edge of the bed and tried again to rouse the demon.

“Wake up, my dear,” he softly called. “Please?”

Crowley groaned and flopped around and there was a sound that was definitely a growl this time. A bleary yellow eye opened, unfocussed, and closed again.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale tried once more. “Are you awake?”

“Nnn,” Crowley grunted.

“I’m terrible sorry to wake you, dear, but I didn’t know how long you wished to sleep and—”

“Nnngle?” Crowley mumbled, struggling his way towards consciousness.

“Yes, Crowley. It’s just me,” he assured him. “I’m sorry to wake you but—”

“Wot day’ssit?” 

“Oh, it’s um… Well, I suppose it is _Sunday_ now, come to think of it,” Aziraphale waffled, suddenly badly flustered again. “You’ve been asleep more than half the year, though and I—”

“Wot’sss wrong?” Crowley pushed himself up to sitting, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Ssssomething happened?”

“Oh, nothing’s wrong, Crowley,” Aziraphale rushed to assure him. Of course the demon would figure there must be a good reason to wake him and not simply that Aziraphale was lonely.

Crowley looked at him with sleepy incomprehension. Some of his hair was sticking up at an odd angle and the picture looked so soft and sweet that Aziraphale lifted his hand to smooth the strands back down.

Crowley caught his wrist, snake-bite quick, before he could make contact and all the softness and sweetness was gone.

“Wot are you doing?” he demanded.

“I… er… I’m sorry,” Aziraphale snatched his hand back. “Your hair was just…”

Crowley immediately smoothed his own hair down in a quick, jerking motion. “Wot are you doing in here?” he growled. “Wot are you waking me up for?”

“It's been months,” Aziraphale shrugged, wishing he had waited until he’d come up with a reasonable excuse before waking the demon. Crowley was clearly grumpier than usual when he first woke up. “You never actually told me how long you planned to sleep. Were you going to spend the whole decade in bed or… shall I just _water your plants_ for the next century? Your naps really can get away from you so I just thought I’d ask, if that’s all right.”

Crowley stared at him, unblinking, and Aziraphale blushed and looked away. “You’re sick of waterin’ the bloody plants?” Crowley sneered. “S’fine. Won’t ask you t’do it next time.”

“That isn’t… I don’t mind tending to them at all, but I’d hoped for some idea of how long—”

“Why?” Crowley snapped. “Wot’s it matter? If something’s come up and you’ve got to go tend to it, Angel, then have at it. No skin off my nose.”

“I don’t. That isn’t the issue,” Aziraphale huffed, getting tired of being interrupted. “You never said how long you’d be asleep!”

“Until I bloody woke up!” Crowley snarled. “Bless it, Angel, I was having a good dream too,” he went on. “Wot’s so bloody important I need to be awake for it?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Aziraphale fussed with his cufflinks. “I just became lonely, I suppose.”

“Oh fuck off,” Crowley snorted, rolling his eyes. “Wot do you really want?”

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Aziraphale got to his feet. “I didn’t think this through.”

“Obviously,” Crowley grumbled, wriggling away from him to the far side of the bed. “D’ya mind? I’m not exactly fit to have company at the moment. Not even wearing pants.”

Aziraphale blushed and turned away. “Oh. Sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t see anything.”

“Shaddup,” Crowley grumbled some more. “Look, m’up now, all right? Mission accomplished. You thwarted the evil demon’s nap.” Aziraphale cringed at the nasty tone but his ears seemed particularly interested in the soft sound of Crowley’s footsteps as he walked towards the ensuite bathroom. Was Crowley still naked!? He mentally tracked the movement, blushing furiously, his shoulders hunched. “I’m taking a shower now so…” Crowley trailed off meaningfully and Aziraphale thought he’d faint. 

“Oh, I couldn’t!” he squeaked.

“Wot?”

“Er.”

“Aziraphale?” 

Aziraphale slowly turned towards the demon, relieved to find him wrapped in a black satin robe.

“Wot’s wrong with you, you idiot?” Crowley snarked. “Y’mind sodding off so I can shower?”

“Right. Yes. Of course.” Aziraphale nearly tripped over his feet in his haste to quit the room.

  
  
  


**********

He didn't expect to hear from Crowley for the rest of the day, and indeed he didn't think he wanted to. Their exchange at the Penthouse had been disastrous and Aziraphale was feeling quite hurt. He’d expected that there could be some acrimony upon waking the demon but there was no reason for name calling! And Crowley’s immediate assertion that Aziraphale was merely unwilling to care for his plants! What nerve! If he didn’t want to be woken up then he should have given Aziraphale some idea how long he planned to sleep. _‘Until I wake up’_ was a completely unacceptable answer. Even with the difficulties between them in the past Aziraphale had thought they had at least become friends. A friend shouldn’t just leave for months with little to no word on when they’d be expected to return. 

With a bit of distance between them and a couple cups of tea, Aziraphale had managed to calm himself down enough to conclude that he was hurt. He was hurt by all of it, even the parts that weren’t technically Crowley’s fault (like the contents of that dashed journal) but still it hurt. It hurt to be abandoned for an impromptu and potentially endless nap. It hurt to be scolded and rudely dismissed. And it hurt that Crowley didn’t seem to believe that Aziraphale had actually missed him! Well. If that’s how the demon thought of him, perhaps he’d give it a try and just not think about him at all!

Besides, Aziraphale usually preferred to close the shop on Sundays to do inventory, dusting, and reshelving (his own organizational method that he alone understood and left would-be customers helplessly baffled. He'd gotten the idea from Crowley back at the turn of the century when —No! He wasn't going to think about Crowley).

The dusting was a necessary weekly affair, an annoyance of his own making. He'd go over specific spots where the dust tended to get stirred up more than others. If he simply left it be he'd end up sneezing eventually, but he did like to leave enough dust about to discourage customers from lingering. There had been more dusting in the last couple years now that Crowley was hanging around the shop more. It was amazing how much that demon shed. Aziraphale would find fine red hairs nearly everywh— Dash it! Not thinking about the demon!

So it went for another couple days. Aziraphale would do his best to not think about Crowley while going about his day to day. By the time Wednesday evening rolled around the angel was at his wits’ end. Surely Crowley should have called on him by now! Perhaps Aziraphale had been wrong to be so stubborn after being tossed out. What if Crowley went back to sleep? Should Aziraphale go back and check on him? Would he be welcome?

Finally unable to further tolerate the uncertainty, he picked up the telephone and rang Crowley's landline. He lightly nibbled his knuckle as the ringing continued. He felt terribly anxious. Was he more nervous Crowley wouldn't answer, or that he would? 

The answerphone picked up and Crowley's outbound message drawled at him and Aziraphale was struck by just how sorely he missed the demon. The line was dead for a moment before Aziraphale remembered he ought to be leaving a message.

"Oh! Dear me, sorry. Lost in thought for a moment there," he tittered, feeling badly flustered now. "It's me. I suppose you've gathered that now...er… I thought perhaps I'd have heard from you by now and wondered if maybe… perhaps, you'd gone back to sleep? Should I come by to water the plants again on Saturday?" Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut in a silent wince. "Of course if you've gone back to sleep then I suppose you won't hear this message at all so… I'll just wait to hear from you then and if I don't by Saturday I'll just come by, shall I? Um… all right. That's the plan then. Hope you're well."

There. The telephone message would surely be a decent compromise between continued silence and showing up unexpectedly at the demon’s door. And he managed to establish a definite and reasonable time frame for Crowley to return his call, or barring that, at least not be surprised or upset by Aziraphale’s visit on Saturday. 

Yes. Well done then. No further need to obsess over this business.

Aziraphale remained stuck in place a while longer, however, still absently gazing off into space and feeling somewhat jittery about the back teeth. Perhaps he would make some tea, or go for a walk. Standing awkwardly around the counter wasn’t the least bit productive.

Aziraphale was simultaneously glad of the distraction and greatly annoyed at the rude shock when the telephone abruptly rang beside him, startling him out of his wits. Had it always been so loud? He quickly cleared his throat and made himself answer politely lest it be a customer.

“Yeah, S’just me, Angel,” Crowley muttered, and Aziraphale’s heartbeat quickened in his chest. “Got your message.”

“Are you all right?” Aziraphale asked at once and completely without meaning to. He’d hoped, should Crowley ever bother to call, that he’d remain as aloof and unaffected as was reasonably polite. Instead he all but shouted his concern across the line before the demon had even fully finished his greeting. There was a stiff pause now on the other end of the line, and Aziraphale inwardly flinched. 

“Yeh, Course,” Crowley grumbled. “Look, I _am_ awake, so no need to come by on Saturday. Thanks though for keeping the plants alive. Slept a bit longer than I meant to.”

Aziraphale cocked his head at that, puzzled. “You slept longer than you intended?” he clarified unnecessarily. “Then… if you meant to get up sooner, why wouldn’t you tell me? I would have woken you when you wanted... I hope you know that you could have asked me.”

Or, he could have set an alarm. Crowley had one. He’d gone to sleep and woken up on time before. Aziraphale winced, realizing he’d fallen for a rather weak excuse. He must have sounded so foolish just now.

“And, of course, you have an alarm,” he added hastily, before Crowley could say it.

There was another pause, then a long tired sigh. Aziraphale found himself chewing on his knuckle again. “I know. I’ll… keep that in mind for next time,” Crowley conceded. Aziraphale waited a beat but that seemed to be all the demon had to say on the matter.

“You _are_ all right though?” Aziraphale asked. “I admit I was worried when I didn’t hear from you and…”

“M’fine,” Crowley grumbled, annoyed, but at least he sounded more like himself. “Look, Sorry if I was a bit… harsh to you the other night. Just wasn’t expecting to wake up to a nosy angel and I wasn’t all the way awake yet. I’ll come round the shop tomorrow if you like? Maybe we can go out for lunch?”

Aziraphale brightened immediately. “That would be splendid!” He was eager for things to go back to some semblance of normalcy.

“Right. _Splendid_ ,” Crowley repeated in his dry mocking tone. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yes. Looking forward to it,” Aziraphale smiled, twisting the telephone cord between his fingers.

“Yep. Ciao,” Crowley finished before ringing off. Aziraphale hung up the telephone and felt much better. Crowley sounded like himself again on the telephone, at least, and they had lunch plans now, so everything was likely just fine. Aziraphale let out a long breath and walked to the kitchenette to make himself some tea. Now that the business of Crowley’s immediate wellbeing seemed to be sorted out, he could turn his attention to fretting over what to do with what he’d learned from Crowley’s hidden journal.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your kudos make Aziraphale some tea and help him sort his feelings.  
> Your comments help Crowley put a filter between his brain and his mouth. (I kid. That’s impossible! But maybe he tones the ire down a smidge after some strong coffee?)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale comes up with (what he hopes is) a foolproof plan to communicate his feelings for Crowley. Unfortunately the monolithic mountain of prior miscommunication is… problematic.
> 
> Meanwhile, Crowley has done a bit of introspection, hating every second of it. Fortunately he has a solution to his own crisis, so now he can focus on figuring out what is making Aziraphale act stranger than usual. 
> 
> Unfortunately, that solution will likely make Aziraphale’s problem much more difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI I will aim to post every week on Fridays or weekends. My writing habits have been a bit wonky lately with intermittent writer’s block so fingers crossed. I really love the plan for this story and hope to do it justice.

Crowley seemed to have recovered from the worst of his stroppiness by the time he swung by the shop the following day. He’d even brought along a scrumptious-looking chocolate cheesecake by way of apology for his poor manners. If Aziraphale hadn’t already forgiven him, the cheesecake would certainly have done the trick.

The weather looked mildly threatening so the demon offered to drive them to the restaurant rather than walk. “Wouldn’t want to risk getting stuck in the deluge in this outfit,” the demon beamed. Aziraphale gave said outfit a quick once over. It seemed very similar in colour and style to what Crowley always wore lately, but he nodded politely anyway and thanked the demon when he opened the passenger door for him.

“Meh,” he responded, uncomfortable as ever with Aziraphale’s gratitude despite constantly making the angel grateful. They drove in silence for the most part, since Aziraphale’s squeaks and squawks of alarm hardly constituted conversation (although he prayed Crowley would someday take heed of their meaning) but when he wasn’t actively being terrified for themselves or the whole of London, Aziraphale would watch Crowley from his new, illicitly-gained perspective.

He’d never noticed how the demon would hook his wrist over the steering wheel, or the way his long fingers slid along the leather while he straightened the car after a turn. He’d never paid attention to the way Crowley’s features seemed more focused and calm, (again, no doubt because Aziraphale seldom felt that way in the Bentley) and how much Crowley really enjoyed driving. He even seemed to enjoy screaming at other drivers, considering the amount of energy he put into it. 

And Aziraphale had definitely not noticed the way his own heart would stutter whenever Crowley dropped his hand to the gearshift, each time thinking the demon was about to touch his knee. Such a silly thing to think. Why would Crowley put his hand on his knee? He could just laugh at himself.

“All right, Angel?” Crowley asked him, drawing Aziraphale out of his reverie. They were sitting at the restaurant, well into their first course and Aziraphale was still thinking about bloody hypothetical knee touches. What’s worse, this wasn’t even the first time Crowley had asked him if he was all right since they’d been seated. Aziraphale gave himself a stern shake.

“Yes, thank you,” he murmured. “Just momentarily distracted. Forgive me.”

“Not exactly a demon’s place to forgive an angel, but I’ll consider it,” Crowley snorted, reaching for his wine. Aziraphale felt his heart somersault into his throat and swallowed it back down with a healthy gulp from his own glass.

“I think it is more than plausible, considering the shared history, that a particular demon might end up having all too much to forgive a particular angel for,” Aziraphale replied hastily. “My behaviour at the bandstand alone was— "

“Ancient history,” Crowley interrupted, his voice low but firm. “So just shaddup about it already.”

“Ancient history,” Aziraphale scoffed lightly. “It was less than two years ago, Crowley. Hardly early Rome.”

“Figure of speech, Aziraphale,” Crowley rolled his eyes. “Point being, S’over and done. No point beating a dead horse. That’s a figure of speech _too_ , by the way. Were a few horses back in the day whose corpses I wouldn’t mind flogging. Be therapeutic, really.”

“That’s awful,” Aziraphale huffed, annoyed by Crowley’s insolent grin. “And completely beside the point. You should know by now that I hardly think of you as…” he lowered his voice, conscious that he’d become a bit excited. “As a demon.”

“I _am_ a demon, though,” Crowley shrugged. “Stupid not to consider me one. Have you not seen me turn into a snake?”

“Not _merely_ a demon, then,” Aziraphale amended, getting exasperated. “I’ve long since considered you a friend. A good friend. My _very_ good friend, Crowley,” 

Crowley stared at Aziraphale with an eerie stillness, and the angel fell silent, flushing with embarrassment.

“I mean this with the utmost respect, Angel,” Crowley muttered. “Have you done a bit more cocaine than usual this afternoon?”

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale stuttered. He felt as though he’d been doused with cold. What a thing to say! “I do _not_ partake in recreational drugs, Crowley,” he growled. 

Well… not anymore (The 1920’s had been an interesting time) and he certainly wouldn’t do something so disrespectful before a dinner date. Not that this was a date. It certainly wasn’t. Not even dinner. Just lunch. Just meeting his demon for lunch.

Crowley was still staring at him. Aziraphale couldn’t tell if he had moved at all. “Yeah…” the redhead drawled finally. “Was a joke.”

“Well it wasn’t funny,” Aziraphale huffed. “Addiction is a very serious matter.”

“Oh is it now?” Crowley snorted, finally moving to take up his wine once more. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know anything about it.”

“Do you? Personally I mean?” Aziraphale faltered, leaning closer to his friend. He hadn’t considered that Crowley might have taken things further than being strictly recreational, but if anyone had cause to escape into a substance fueled haze it would be his soulful demon.

Not _his_ demon. Not _Aziraphale’s_ demon. Crowley was his _own_ demon, of course. Aziraphale would never want to presume. 

“I hope you know you could tell me if you were struggling with such things,” he told Crowley earnestly. He reached out for his hand by instinct, but Crowley artfully pulled it away to scratch it through his equally artfully tousled hair.

“Okay…” the demon responded, looking as bewildered as Aziraphale was beginning to feel. 

“Well?” Aziraphale asked after a beat, because now this flea was under his collar it was going to itch until he’d gotten it out.

“Not addicted to anything, no,” Crowley told him, eyeing him askance over the rim of his glasses. "Currently sober."

“That’s good then,” Aziraphale sighed miserably. Crowley gave a low whistle and looked incredibly relieved when the server came round with their entrees. Aziraphale tried desperately to remember how to be normal. He'd been slowly spiraling since he'd spoken to the demon the night before.

"Did something happen while I was sleeping?" Crowley asked quietly. "You've been acting squirrely since you woke me up."

"I _am_ sorry about that," Aziraphale apologized again. "And I believe I already filled you in on the mess of our current geo-political clime."

"Right, so… nothing bothering you in particular?" Crowley frowned. "You're not in any trouble, are you?"

"Me?" Aziraphale laughed a bit at that. "Heavens, no. Everything's been painfully consistent in my life while you slept."

"Painfully?" Crowley repeated, smirking and raising an amused eyebrow. Aziraphale sighed and shrugged.

"I did mention it was lonely," Aziraphale mumbled. "But to put you at ease, I am only in danger from my own overactive mind."

"Same as always then," Crowley snorted and that seemed to be that. Aziraphale concentrated on his meal.

*****

Crowley watched the angel hurry back into his shop and shook his head ruefully. Something weird was going on. He knew that much, but bless him if he knew _what._ He waited until the door closed, blocking Aziraphale from view, before pulling away from the kerb and heading towards Mayfair.

Earlier that week he'd woken up to Aziraphale sitting in bed with him. That had been surreal enough on its own, but the fact that he didn't even have a _reason_ for waking him, just wanting to ask him how long he'd be sleeping? _That_ was bloody _strange_.

Not to mention him practically staring at Crowley the whole trip to the restaurant, staring at his hands the whole trip back, and acting like a startled owl during the actual meal. Something weird was definitely going on.

Maybe the angel had meant to tell him after waking him and been frightened off by the demon's temper. Crowley rolled his eyes and growled at himself. Of course that's what happened. It explained everything. Bloody sensitive angel! He hadn't meant anything by it. He was _always_ grumpy and groggy after a multi-month nap. 

Of course, he usually managed to avoid interaction with Aziraphale until the ill-effects of a long sleep had worn off, so it was _probably_ fair that the angel didn't know he was always grumpy.

"Shit," he sighed.

All right, well, what's done is done and all that. Now he had to figure out what was wrong with Aziraphale. Depending on the nature of this trouble, it could take Crowley ages to sweet talk the fuzzy git into unbuttoning his lip! Why did Crowley have to be so intimidating? Why was it so hard to just be nice?

"Cause you're a demon, you idiot," he grumbled to himself. "Nice is a 'four-letter word' or whatever plonk nonsense you shouted at him when _he_ was only trying to be bloody _nice_. Shit, this relationship is exhausting."

At least he could admit it was a relationship, if a stressful and strange one, alone in the safety of the Bentley. They'd found other euphemisms over the past year away from Head Office to describe their new Arrangement. Some of them had been a bit awkward or outlandishly out of date, but when Crowley had suggested 'relationship' (a word that seemed pretty innocuous to him) Aziraphale had made this horribly nervous noise so Crowley never used the term again.

Partnership, Understanding, Alliance, _Friendship_.

Ugh. Crowley felt his lip curl up so high under his nose it made him want to sneeze. Friendship. 

To think there was a time Crowley would have been ecstatic to hear Aziraphale call their _relationship_ "friendship". Why did it rankle him so much now? Surely it was better than "hereditary enemy", "adversary", or "loathsome fiend"!

"My very good friend, Crowley," Crowley mimicked in a surly voice. "Rubbish."

He jumped the kerb and parked sideways across his spot. The Bentley would no doubt be covered in little pieces of paper when he came down tomorrow, and the prospect made him smile a little as he sauntered towards his building. The smile grew wider when he saw a familiar face waiting for him outside the lobby.

He'd been planning on spending the night alone, drinking, sulking, and planning out how to best spy on a secretive Principality. _This_ would definitely change his plans for the better.

"Luca!" Crowley drawled, opening his arms wide in greeting as he approached the other demon. "You're looking strapping as always."

…..

Aziraphale didn't sleep that night. He didn't sleep _most_ nights but that night he _really_ didn't sleep. He paced and muttered to himself, thinking furiously. He wanted a concrete plan of attack. A list of neat little checkboxes that would bridge this widening chasm between himself and Crowley. 

Aziraphale had always considered himself good at problem-solving, list-making, and bridge-building, so why was this so dashed difficult?

Perhaps it was partly because more than half his time had been spent dwelling on his past mistakes and his embarrassing missteps that afternoon. Dwelling on things was, unfortunately, also one of Aziraphale's specialties, and he was capable of scolding himself so harshly he would be sobbing from it for hours. He had given himself a particularly brutal tongue-lashing this evening and it left him exhausted, shaken, and in no mood for constructive thought.

Instead he sat by the window, staring out into the dark street until it was once again bright, busy, and loud.

A young couple strolled by arm in arm. The young lady leaned over and kissed her girlfriend's cheek and was soundly kissed in return. Aziraphale sighed and tossed a blessing their way. The women's simple display of love struck the angel as a sign. Simple. A kiss.

He wasn't going to kiss Crowley (although the thought of doing so made his stomach do that floppy thing again) but it reminded him of the acronym. Keep It Simple, Stupid.

So Aziraphale snapped his fingers to freshen his clothes and made himself a pot of tea with a lighter heart. Once he had his brew, he sat at his writing desk with a fresh piece of paper and began his list.

How to Woo a Demon: 

Step 1. Keep it simple. Tell him how you feel.

The idea of simply coming out and saying it was nearly as panic-inducing as the thought of kissing the demon, but it did seem the simplest and most logical course of action. So much of their mutual misery seemed to stem from a lack of communication. He just needed to sit Crowley down, look him in the eye, and tell him.

And he'd have to do it before he talked himself out of it.

Energized by his new sense of purpose, Aziraphale quickly telephoned Crowley, nearly vibrating with excitement.

"H'lo?" Crowley groaned. Oh dear, Aziraphale had caught the demon sleeping again. 

"Good morning, Crowley. I'm terribly sorry if I woke you," he winced, bracing for the inevitable foul humour. "I was wondering if I could convince you to come back round the shop today."

"Mmmf…" Crowley seemed to be distracted or possibly not all the way awake. "Today?" he asked finally.

"If possible," Aziraphale added quickly. "I have something I'd like to speak with you about, and I'd rather do it in person at your earliest convenience."

"Oh, yeah. Sounds good, Angel," Crowley sounded almost relieved. "S'this about whatever was bothering you before?"

"No...well, _yes_ , I suppose so," Aziraphale waffled. "In a way. Why, were you worried about me, dear?"

"Course not," Crowley grumbled predictably. "I'm sure you can handle yourself, but if I can help out then I'm happy to."

That last part was _not_ expected, and Aziraphale felt his cheeks grow hot and his stomach flopped about like a fish. A compliment? And a genuine offer of aid sans snarky comment? Crowley was in a very good mood this morning.

"Well, that's nice of y— I mean, thank you for saying so," Aziraphale corrected quickly. Crowley didn't like being thanked but he reacted to it with less ire than when Aziraphale accused him of kindness.

"Nyeh," Crowley grunted. "Be round this afternoon. That soon enough?"

"This afternoon would be lovely. I'll see you then."

Aziraphale reset the telephone and stood stock still for thirty minutes, thinking over the conversation.

Crowley was coming over that afternoon and Aziraphale would tell him he had romantic feelings for him. And if Crowley's good mood continued, maybe the gruff demon would confess in kind! Should he get champagne? No, too presumptuous… but maybe…

*****

Crowley stared at his cellular for a moment after hanging up. A strange call, but then, Aziraphale had been odd all week. Still, it was a relief that the angel wanted to talk. It saved him the trouble of dragging the problem out of the angel, or worse, having to resort to sneaky methods to discover the issue on his own.

It wasn't that Crowley didn't enjoy resorting to sneaky methods, in fact he often prefered to convolute things to the point where he could say he was _forced_ to resort to eavesdropping, spying, stalking, or the like. He appreciated the challenge of gathering information through the most nefarious means possible.

The prospect of Aziraphale being in actual trouble dampened his enthusiasm for it however, so it was much better to get the full scoop quickly so he could move directly to solving the angel's problem.

Then maybe another nap?

He set the phone down and stared up at the ceiling, feeling despondent once more. He’d hoped he could sleep the malaise away, but it had come back just as strong. The initial confusion and concern when Aziraphale woke him had kept it at bay for a moment but it crept over him in the shower, leaving him standing under the spray, completely numb, for three hours. He just wasn’t feeling himself. He hadn’t been himself since thwarting Armageddon.

He’d chalked it up to boredom at first. He hadn’t gotten up to any quality trouble-making in the months after getting sacked. He’d been so wrapped up in the excitement of being free of all the bloody paperwork and mandatory months-long company meetings (those really could have been covered in an email!). He’d flitted around with the angel, toasting their freedom, walking in the park, watching him eat, watching him read. Watching him _be_. 

Crowley had just forgotten he could also _be_ , and indeed should be _being_ now that he was free to _be_ however he wanted to _be_. 

Cue another several long months of Crowley desperately trying to figure out what the Heaven that _was_ as the malaise began to creep in. Every week just became heavier. He’d pull the odd temptation without really feeling it. His trouble-making became clumsy and childish until he could barely muster the will to put sugar in a gas tank. 

It was as though he were losing his connection to Hell! He despised Hell with every metaphysical fibre of his being but he was still a demon. He was an infernal occult creature. His powers were fundamentally Hell made manifest. It was all well and good to be free of the bureaucracy and generally depressing _purpose_ of Hell, but to be fully cut off was another matter. What would happen to him? Would he fade away over time? Would he become mortal and grow old or sick? Would he die and end up another damned soul in the maw? He’d panicked over that thought for a full week before the fog eventually consumed his panic as well.

His powers were hitherto unaffected by his current occupational status and he felt the Hellfire as strongly today as he did 6,000 years ago, so that theory no longer held. He was forced to consider the possibility that what was plaguing him was as utterly banal and mundane. Just an old-fashioned identity crisis. 

He’d been hanging around humans since humans were humans. He spent far more time with them than he did other demons. His job was to cause them trouble, lead them astray, deliver their souls to the dark lord, yadda yadda blah blah blah. Point was, he was on Earth to tempt humans, and you couldn’t do a good job of that without really getting to know how humanity worked. 

Crowley’s first problem was that he found he actually liked humanity. Humans were curious and interesting and always up to entertaining hijinks. The trouble with liking something was you started to care about it on some level which, for a demon, was a big bloody no-no. Gets a demon into trouble with the Authorities. Leads them to make weird friendships with angels and stop wars they’re supposed to be causing.

So, somewhere along the way, Crowley stopped acting like the demon he was and started being… what? Not an _angel—_ blergh! Never fucking that!— and not a human, obviously. So what was he? The thought of going through eternity existing as naught but the embodiment of a question mark exhausted him.

He was a demon. He _had_ to be a demon. There was nothing left for him to be. He had just had to remember what it meant to be a demon, and then figure out what it meant to be a demon off the books.

“Quit brooding, Serpent. I made you a coffee.”

Crowley turned his head and smiled slightly as Luca strolled into the room holding two steaming mugs. He sat up against the headboard and accepted his coffee without thanks. Luca settled onto the bed beside him and stretched his long legs out beside Crowley’s. The contrast of their legs side by side was striking and Crowley stared at them while he nursed his scalding hot coffee.

Luca was a greek god made flesh. Tall, muscular, dark olive skin and wavy black hair. He’d grown a beard which he kept sharply trimmed. It served his handsome face well, providing an artful contrast for bright sky blue eyes. 

If Crowley were one to feel physically self-conscious, he would definitely feel that way now. His skinny, freckled limbs might as well have been weird noodles lying next to Luca’s. Fortunately, physical self-consciousness was not one of Crowley’s problems and he stretched himself out, unconsciously moving closer to Luca’s body heat. Waste of time to compare himself to Luca’s generic handsomeness. Luca was an incubus. He would always fit the mould of whatever local custom classified as sexually appealing.

“Your depression back?” Luca asked him lightly.

“M’not depressed,” Crowley grumbled for the third time. 

“Right, sorry,” Luca rolled his eyes. “Is your _existential dread slash malaise_ back?”

“Yeah,” Crowley admitted. “Coffee’s helping though.”

“Mmhmm,” Luca smirked, nudging Crowley’s bony ankle with his socked foot. Crowley snorted at the socks. They were literally the only article of clothing Luca was wearing. He’d shed every other stitch the moment he entered the flat, preferring to walk in his bare skin. That was until he felt the cold of Crowley’s concrete floors.

“Need me to take your mind off it again?” Luca asked, placing a feather light kiss against Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley considered it, checking the time off his phone.

“Got an appointment in Soho this afternoon,” Crowley told the other demon. “Gotta get myself clean and presentable before I go.”

Luca’s face lit up at the mention of Soho and Crowley couldn’t help but laugh. It was one of Luca’s favourite hunting grounds. “Yeh, all right. I’ll give you a lift over, but you gotta make yourself scarce. No pestering the angel.”

Luca rolled his eyes again. It was a poor jab. Luca avoided Aziraphale like it was his religion. Crowley would honestly be surprised if the angel knew Luca even existed, let alone was hunting in his neighbourhood. 

“Your appointment is with the Principality?” Luca asked, his voice dripping with judgement. 

“He wants to talk. Something’s up with him. In my best interest to know what,” Crowley retorted. He knew he wasn’t fooling the incubus who had heard all the same gossip about Crowley as every other demon. Been quite a few colourful rumours about him since the End that Wasn’t. 

“MmHmm,” Luca hummed again, unimpressed. “I still say that your relationship with the angel is a big part of your problem. He’s messing with your brain.”

“S’not,” Crowley growled. “And it’s my business anyway, so stay out of it.”

“Fine,” Luca shrugged. “Your business. But I’ll wager you a bottle of quality Scotch that you’re calling me over tonight to undo whatever damage he does to you.”

“I’ll take that bet,” Crowley snorted, and shook Luca’s offered hand. He’d never turned down free booze.

“So?” Luca drew the question out salaciously. Crowley poured the rest of his coffee down his open throat, and the other demon took that cue to straddle his hips. Crowley tipped his head back, eagerly accepting a wicked kiss. The numbness began to recede from Luca’s searing heat, and the dread was quickly lost in a fog of lust.

*****

Aziraphale fidgeted with the biscuit tray. He had spent the last few hours in a mad dash, keeping himself far too busy with preparing for Crowley’s visit to dwell on what he’d say when the demon actually arrived. He had run off to procure a fine bottle of champagne, even if it _was_ premature (and possibly bad luck), he couldn’t help imagining the potential for celebration and it wouldn’t do not to have champagne! 

He had also picked up Crowley’s favourite blend of tea, and a selection of biscuits which was much less presumptuous than the champagne (and a great deal safer). Uncertain precisely _when_ the demon would arrive, Aziraphale had put his nervous energy towards clearing the sofa of books (Crowley preferred the sofa for a good sprawl) and giving the back room a thorough dusting. Now, at nearly three o’clock, Aziraphale had run out of things to clean or prepare and was in serious peril of beginning to _think about everything_. He was nearly ecstatic when he spotted the Bentley pulling up to the kerb across the street.

His heart immediately leapt into his throat and he stroked his palms briskly over his waistcoat to prevent any potential clamminess.

“You can do this, old boy,” he told himself. “You’ve faced off against Gabriel, Beelzebub, the Antichrist and Satan himself. You can certainly tell your dear friend that you love him.”

He gave himself a little shake and an assertive nod. Peptalk done, he was ready. _Almost_ ready. Perhaps he should add another couple biscuits to the tray? No. Wouldn’t do to overcrowd it. Right. He was ready.

Crowley stepped out of the car, all flaming hair and black limbs, and Aziraphale smiled broadly. He expected the demon to saunter right over, but instead Crowley strolled around the car as another gentleman emerged from the passenger seat. Aziraphale’s smile faltered in surprise. The other man was vaguely familiar, as though Aziraphale had seen him once or twice about town. Was he a friend of Crowley’s? Aziraphale didn’t realize Crowley had any friends outside himself.

The two chatted across the street as Aziraphale drifted closer to the window. They could have been polar opposites by their appearance. Crowley with his bright colourful hair next to this gentleman’s professional coal black cut. The stranger looked like he could have stepped out of the cover of a men’s health magazine with his blue denims, pale blue cotton t-shirt and light grey sports jacket. Crowley looked darker and more roguish in comparison.

Crowley shook the man’s hand, and the stranger pulled him into a quick embrace. Aziraphale blinked, his jaw nearly hitting the floor. _Nobody_ manhandled Crowley like that! The man released the ginger demon (who did _not_ instantly incinerate the man into a pile of handsome ashes) but his hand seemed to linger on Crowley’s shoulder for a moment before they parted. 

The gentleman wove his way through a group of giggling teenagers and then was lost in the crowded street. Literally. Aziraphale looked but could no longer see him. He hummed suspiciously to himself at that, but Crowley was finally bringing that patented saunter of his across the street toward the shop and Aziraphale was reminded of more pressing matters.

“Afternoon, Angel,” Crowley greeted him, flipping the sign on the window to ‘closed’ with a snap. “Here I am. What’s up?”

“I was hoping you’d join me for some tea?” Aziraphale squeaked, pointing at the tray. Crowley stared at him, his eyebrows high, and Aziraphale felt his cheeks burn as he cleared his throat. “Come sit down,” he added more evenly. “I’ll bring the tray in.”

Crowley led the way, flopping onto the sofa as usual before looking at Aziraphale expectantly. It made the angel feel rushed, which wasn’t particularly a good way to begin this endeavour. “I picked up your favourite tea,” he told the demon, hoping to begin conversation on a milder note than _‘I’m in love with you. Have a biscuit.’_

“Smells good,” Crowley nodded, seemingly taking the hint and leaning back into the sofa. “Wasn’t a busy morning then?”

“It was for _me_ , but not for the shop, no,” Aziraphale told him. “I ran out to get supplies. Did a bit of tidying.”

“Tidying?” Crowley snorted, looking around the cluttered back room. “Are you sure?”

“Just because I happen to enjoy filling my space with actual objects as opposed to living in an empty cement tomb, does not mean I’m disorganized,” Aziraphale teased back. “I’ll have you know I have a deliberate system and I know where every single item is.”

“Of that I’ve no doubt,” Crowley smiled. “I’m sure you’re very on top of your mess. What supplies were you getting?”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale set the tea tray down on the coffee table and settled into his overstuffed chair with his cup on its saucer. “Supplies?”

“You said you’d run out for supplies this morning,” Crowley reminded him. “Forgot already? Getting old, Angel?”

“Ah, yes. Completely ravaged by senility,” Aziraphale agreed. “I only meant getting your tea, and a few other refreshments. That’s all.”

“Hardly needed to make a special trip for me,” Crowley snorted. “But the tea’s appreciated.”

“You’re most welcome,” Aziraphale smiled warmly at him. “I’m glad you enjoy it.”

Crowley took a sip, eyeing him askance and Azieaphale felt his pulse speed up again as he reached for another bit of small talk and found nothing there. The silence stretched out between them, oozing past what was considered companionable and firmly into _uncomfortable_.

“Um… who was your friend?” he asked, desperate for a fresh topic to discuss.

“Don’t have those,” Crowley shrugged. “Not sure who you mean.”

“The sharp looking fellow who got out of your car and was embracing you in the street,” Aziraphale answered, surprising them both with the chill in his tone. Crowley’s eyebrows shot up once more, startled, before plummeting down in a sharp V as he scowled.

“You called me here to talk about what’s bothering you,” Crowley glowered, changing the subject. “Let’s focus on _that_. Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“No, of course not,” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. This was not going nearly as well as he’d hoped. “As I told you yesterday, there’s nothing wrong with me, Crowley. I promise.”

“What’s up then?” the demon asked, kicking one long leg up over his other knee, bouncing his foot in the air. Crowley was fidgeting now. Aziraphale was making him uncomfortable. This really wasn’t going well at all. 

“Well…” Aziraphale set his tea down and folded his hands in his lap. He took a steadying breath before looking back up at his friend. “You and I have known each other for a very long time. I’ve come to hold you in very high esteem.”

“Feeling’s mutual,” Crowley interjected quickly, looking off to the side in obvious discomfort.

“I hope that’s true,” Aziraphale sighed. “Crowley, I haven’t been completely honest with you about… about how I feel.”

Crowley seemed to grow colder at that, the bounce of his raised foot fell still and he watched Aziraphale warily.

“The truth is…” Aziraphale took another deep breath and closed his eyes. “The truth is that I’m quite in love with you, and I have been for the longest time.”

Crowley didn’t answer. In fact there was no sound at all save for the _tick tick tick_ of the grandfather clock and the faint street sounds beyond the thick windows of the shop. Aziraphale forced himself to open his eyes. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see. Perhaps he hoped that Crowley would smile with relief, or beam at him with joy, or launch himself off the sofa to pull Aziraphale into his arms. He _feared_ that Crowley would scold him with hateful words before angrily quitting the shop and his life.

He wasn’t at all prepared to see the brief wounded expression on the demon’s pale face before he drew himself up and let his breath out in a long derisive snort.

“Pfffffft fffuck off,” Crowley rolled his eyes, leaning back into the sofa. “Ha-bloody-haha. Quit pissing around and tell me what’s _really_ going on with you.”

“I…” Aziraphale blinked. “I just have.”

“Not buying it,” Crowley assured him. “Try again.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed as he stood and approached the stubborn demon. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but —”

“Don’t!” Crowley barked angrily, stopping Aziraphale in his tracks. “No more bloody games, Aziraphale. Tell me what’s wrong this instant or I’ll figure it out myself, but I’m not listening to one more word of this rubbish.”

Aziraphale stared at Crowley, stunned. “Rubbish!”

“All right,” the demon huffed, unfolding himself from the sofa. “Thanks for the tea, Angel, but I’m off. Give me a ring if you want to be serious. Otherwise I’ll try you again in a few days.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whined, reaching for the demon’s elbow only to have it yanked away. 

“Not doing this,” Crowley growled at him. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Then the door slammed hard enough the little bell shook off its setting and tumbled onto the floor. Aziraphale hurried over to collect it and put it back in its place with a weak sniff. A quick miracle mended the cracked casing. It would tingle merrily once more the next time the door opened. Aziraphale looked up at it, ignoring the tears rolling down his cheeks.

What a spectacular disappointment. So much for keeping it simple. Aziraphale returned to the back room to collect up their cups and the abandoned tea tray with not a single biscuit eaten. He brought it all back to the little kitchenette and indulged himself in a good cry before drying his eyes and returning to his little desk. He angrily drew a dark strike through Step One. Telling Crowley how he felt was not going to be enough.

But what was step 2?

*****

Crowley was hard pressed to remember the last time he felt _this_ furious. He growled and gnashed his teeth the entire drive home. He'd been angry with the pig-headed angel countless times before, but _this_ ? This felt different. Even the hated bandstand incident where Aziraphale had been trying to run Crowley off had been better than this. At least then he sensed the feather-brained git was _trying_ to do the right thing. Crowley had been distraught because he _knew_ the Angel was being a twat but he didn't have time to make him see reason.

Well not _distraught_. He hadn’t been _distraught_ . Upset? Afra— _annoyed!_ He'd been annoyed! 

Aziraphale was often annoying, but he was seldom this cruel. What was he playing at? Why was he doing this? How could he… How _could he?_

Crowley snarled, his teeth clenched together so hard his jaw ached. His hands shook as he gripped the wheel. Think. He had to think. Something weird was going on. Nothing's changed from where he was yesterday. He'd hoped Aziraphale would trust him enough by now to just _tell him_ but obviously nothing had changed between them since Armageddon. Here they were, bloody back at annoying, bandstand-style, demon shirking, square-fucking-one.

Fine. Whatever. ( _Have a nice doomsday!)_ Annoying. 

"Sod it," he grumbled, pulling over and slapping on the four-way lights. He continued grumbling a litany of colourful expletives as he extricated his phone from his inside pocket and dialed Luca again.

The incubus answered on the second ring. 

"Right," Crowley hissed before Luca could start crowing. "What brand of Scotch do you want?"

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your kudos pour some tea and give Aziraphale a warm hug.  
> Your comments pour the Scotch for a not-at-all-depressed demon and kindly suggest that he might, indeed, be a little depressed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Step 2 of How to Woo a Demon, involves sending flowers. Crowley is not having it.

Crowley watched Luca while he slept and wondered if incubi dreamed. He looked completely at ease, slack in slumber and Crowley found himself simmering with envy once more. He wished he could shed all his noisy thoughts and drift into a restful silence. Even his longest naps were plagued with dreams, memories, desires so secret even he couldn’t fully know them. They evaporated within seconds upon waking. But Luca seemed content. Must be great to be an incubus. Fuck, feed, sleep, repeat. The bastard really had it made. Hell certainly didn’t give two shits what the incubi got up to. They were never considered proper demons anyway. 

Not like Crowley. He was a proper demon, wasn’t he? After enduring the horror of Falling and the torment that followed he felt like he _ought_ to be a proper demon. Demonic, certainly, but was he evil?

Luca wasn’t evil. He wasn’t good either, far from it. He was a parasite, pure and simple. Maybe that’s what Crowley was now? That might be all right assuming he could find whatever it was that would actually feed him. It wasn’t sex (although in the Book Of Crowley sex was outstanding and he liked it very much) and it wasn’t alcohol (ibid) but there had to be something out there that would fill him up and leave him satisfied.

_Why would there be anything out there for you?_ he reminded himself. _You’re not an incubus. You’re a demon. You’re supposed to be cursed. You’re supposed to be ssssuffering, crawling on your belly and eating dust for eternity._

Crowley sighed and rolled out of bed. The crawling and eating dust thing had been utterly made up by humans, of course. God hadn’t scolded him like a naughty toddler and stolen away his limbs. God hadn’t spoken to him at all after his nosedive. He spoke to her, though. He wasn’t supposed to pray, that was massively insulting to demons everywhere, but Crowley hated demons everywhere so fuck’em. He’d add prayer to the list of things that made him a shite demon.

“Mmmmaudlin,” he muttered at himself, trying to snap himself out of his heavy mood. “Ssstop it. Would you change it? Do you want to be like the rest of that lot?”

No. A resounding no, in fact, and his spirits lifted a bit. For the most part Crowley quite liked who he was. He liked being on Earth, right in the thick of things. He liked the fashion and the art and the music. He liked his skinny body and swinging hips. He liked his red hair and even his freckles. He _didn’t_ like his eyes, but he liked how he looked in sunglasses. 

He liked the Earth, and he didn’t regret what he did to save it. He didn’t miss Hell. He didn’t miss the minions of Hell.

So what was his bloody problem?

"Snap out of it," he snarled at himself as he padded through his study and into his plant room. No point wasting his rotten mood. He centred himself in the room and turned a slow circle, pinpointing each and every plant with individual threats until the room was filled with the sound of trembling leaves and tendrils.

It helped lift his spirits. He always found gardening relaxing. The plants needed extra disciplining after all the time they spent in Aziraphale's care. The angel had coddled them and that wouldn't do.

His mood darkened again at the reminder of the angel. He considered starting up his threats again, giving the room another round but Luca appeared at the entrance to the study, wearing Crowley's black silk robe and smiling seductively. Or possibly just smiling? Maybe the incubus couldn't help but be sexy. He definitely looked damn good in that robe though.

"You've got flowers," Luca called to him, smirking knowingly now and flashing more leg.

"I absolutely do not," Crowley scoffed. "I don't waste my time with flowering plants, fussy useless things. Greenery only."

"No, I mean you've got cut flowers," Luca laughed. "In a vase on your table. They’re bright yellow, so I _figured_ you didn’t select them.”

Crowley eyed the incubus warily. There was a very short list of people who would have the inclination to send him flowers, and the audacity to send _yellow_ ones. Luca eyed him right back, his smile guarded, his striking eyes glowing blue in the gloom. 

“I saw them,” he lied with a shrug. “Wrong address.”

“Ah, that makes more sense,” Luca nodded. “Must be another Anthony J. Crowley somewhere missing his flowers from Aziraphale.” The incubus drew a little flowery card out of the robe’s pocket and held it between his fingers dramatically. He looked like a television investigator holding up a stunning bit of evidence meant to make his case while the audience gasped at the grand reveal. 

Crowley didn’t gasp. He snapped his fingers and incinerated the little card in a flash of hellfire, burning Luca’s pretty long fingers in the process. Incubuses were resistant to the greater devastation of Hellfire, but not immune. It burned them like regular fire burned a regular mortal. Luca swore in surprise and pain, shaking his hand out before sucking his injured flesh between his perfect lips and glaring at Crowley.

“What was that for?” he exclaimed, his rich voice somewhat muffled by his fingers. “I thought you liked my curious nature.”

“I warned you when we first met to stay out of my business with the angel,” Crowley hissed dangerously. Luca looked frustrated and hurt, but he withdrew a few steps too, clearly concerned for his safety. 

“All I did was read the card,” the incubus grumbled defensively, but they both knew he had been about to tease Crowley about it in a bid for information. “I’ll go make coffee if you promise not to fling fire at me as soon as I turn my back.”

“Why would I need to wait for you to turn your back?” Crowley snapped angrily. “Not like I _need_ to take you by surprise if I wanted to kill you.”

“Do you?” Luca growled. “Am I in danger right now? At the mercy of the one of the great Fallen?”

Crowley growled back, but didn’t answer. He obviously wasn’t going to kill Luca for reading the card. He’d have done the same thing in Luca’s place if a bunch of yellow flowers suddenly showed up in the flat of a sad, lonely demon. He wasn’t angry at Luca, but he was angry and the incubus would be wise not to poke him at the moment. He stormed over to the doorway and Luca fell back nervously, but Crowley merely pushed passed him on his way to the sitting room to look at these bloody flowers.

Sure enough, there in the middle of his coffee table stood a large bouquet of yellow chrysanthemums in a crystal vase. Crowley stared at the arrangement as though it were a bomb about to go off. Why? Why would Aziraphale send these? He had never sent Crowley flowers just out of the blue before and they had argued plenty over the eons, so why why why? The card might have held a clue and he winced in embarrassment at his hastiness. 

“Luca!” he shouted down the hall. “What did the bloody card say?” There was no answer so Crowley snarled at the flowers and stomped back to the bedroom where the incubus was getting dressed. Luca looked up at him when he entered the room and Crowley quickly repeated his question before the other demon could say something to make him feel badly about his mistreatment.

Luca shot Crowley a sour look, fastening his belt and reaching for his cream-coloured Henley. Crowley felt a bit of regret as the soft fabric was pulled over that broad, sculpted chest. “Dearest Crowley, My humblest apologies for going too fast. I wish to assure you of my sincerity,” he quoted, pulling on his jacket. 

_Too fast._ Well, if that wasn’t a kick in the teeth. It was like the bloody angel was _trying_ to rile him up. Yellow chrysanthemums too. What was he playing at? How was Crowley supposed to believe, for a single second, in Aziraphale’s _sincerity?!_

“That’s it, other than the signature. If that’s everything, I’ll be on my way,” Luca continued, politely gesturing for Crowley to step out of the way. Crowley moved, thinking furiously until Luca’s words finally sank through the thick fog of his confusion. He struck out, grabbing the incubus’ arm.

“You can sense lust, right?” he asked. Luca scowled at him, rightfully assuming the obvious question was rhetorical. “Does that mean you could tell if someone was under a lust curse or some similar spell?”

“I’m not getting involved in whatever is going on between you and the Principality,” Luca growled. “I need to go. Let go of my arm.”

“Where do you need to be,” Crowley snarled at him. “You’re a sodding sex parasite. What plans could you possibly have?”

“No plans,” Luca answered stiffly. “But I can’t heal myself without energy, so I need to find a snack.”

Crowley blinked in alarm. He’d forgotten that Luca couldn’t heal himself. No real blood meant no real healing factor, and incubi didn’t get to miracle themselves whole again. Crowley’s little temper tantrum singed Luca with a burn that wouldn’t stop burning until he found a sexy dream to snack on.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Crowley sighed. “I shouldn’t have burned the card while you were holding it. I didn’t mean to injure you.”

“Sure you did,” Luca snorted. “I’m just a sex parasite, right? And you wanted to punish me for overstepping. That was very clear. So while I might be able to sense whatever is affecting that angel, I’m going to pass. I don’t need a smiting any more than I need to risk another bit of Hellfire from a fickle demon.”

Crowley let Luca leave. He could have stopped him. He could have forced the incubus to help his cause but Luca did have a point. He’d burned him for poking around in his business with Aziraphale and then turned around and asked for his help. He _was_ being fickle. Crowley stood in the bedroom in a fugue, both scolding himself for his behaviour and puzzling over Aziraphale’s. He drifted through the flat like a ghost, barely aware of his own movements until the bright flowers were once again before him. He was holding one in his hand, running the soft petals over his chin and lips. 

The simplicity of the bouquet was interesting. If it had been a more common flower shop arrangement Crowley would have tossed them in the bin without little thought (aside from _why is Aziraphale sending me flowers?)_ but of course Aziraphale always went for the personal touches and if he was going to send a bouquet it would be for a _reason._ They had discussed the Language of Flowers a number of times off and on. Aziraphale loved the romance and orderly nature of it. Crowley found the whole thing ridiculous, but ended up with a sizable floral vocabulary from listening to the angel drone on. He’d been given a couple joke bouquets around whenever the topic came up. Always a dainty mixture of symbolisms, suggesting he _cheer up and look forward to good things in the future,_ or to _listen to the wise council of wiser friends_ , or some similar cheeky or sentimental drivel.

But they hadn’t discussed this topic since that one lunch while they were undercover at the Dowling’s and Aziraphale was disguised as that bombastically comical gardener. (There had been no joking bouquet after that talk. Crowley had kept an eye open for it, but obviously it was too risky to send such a thing at the time. Honestly, for the best. It wasn’t like he wanted a silly bouquet!) It was odd for the flowers to appear now. For them _all_ to be chrysanthemums, and _all_ yellow at that, it had to be a message. He stared spitefully at the flowers, trying desperately to summon up memories from conversations he never put much interest or effort into. Finally he remembered the angel going on about some story by that prat Steinbeck...

_Optimism and lost love._

Crowley wheezed as his chest contracted painfully. Why was Aziraphale doing this to him? He raised his hand to incinerate the horrible cheerful things, but he paused. Aziraphale didn’t know Crowley had been in love with him for thousands of years. The angel didn’t know how badly this was tearing the demon apart. The stubborn git was in some sort of trouble and acting out, and Crowley wasn’t going to get to the bottom of it by wallowing in misery. Maybe these bloody flowers could be useful after all. He summoned up a large black trash bag and tossed the flowers inside. Now he just had to find someone who could help him.

*****************

“Aziraphale? Where the Heaven are you?”

Aziraphale very nearly toppled off his step ladder at the demon’s shout. He sounded angry. Had the flowers been a bad plan as well? He knew Crowley was capable of being prickly about the oddest things, but surely flowers wouldn’t be too troublesome. All the romance books he’d devoured over the last two days seemed to indicate sending flowers was a perfectly normal way to begin a courtship.

“I’m in the back, Crowley,” Aziraphale called back. “And do lower your voice to at least a dull roar, won’t you? You’ll frighten my mice.” He placed the two books he was holding on the high shelf and stepped down as Crowley entered the room with Anathema in tow. Aziraphale blinked at the young woman in surprise. He hadn’t seen her since before Crowley had gone down for his nap.

“Oh. Ms, Device. What a surprise,” he exclaimed, hoping he wasn’t showing his disappointment that the demon wasn’t alone. “Shall I make some tea?”

“No,” Crowley answered before the human could even open her mouth. “I brought her along to get to the bottom of all this.”

“Brought me along,” Anathema huffed. “I believe a better word would be ‘abducted’.”

“I explained the situation in the car,” Crowley scowled at her. She crossed her arms, looking quite unimpressed, before rolling her eyes and pinning Aziraphale with a scrutinizing gaze. The angel instinctively leaned away, feeling defensive as the witch narrowed her eyes as she peered through him. 

“Are you reading my aura?” he chided. “That’s a bit personal, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry,” she sighed. “Crowley was insistent that you were afflicted by some sort of spell.”

“And?” Crowley barked, leaning against the bookshelf with his arms crossed impatiently. “What’s wrong with him?”

Aziraphale gaped at Crowley. He had kidnapped the poor woman from Tadfield just to read Aziraphale’s aura?

“What’s wrong with _me?!_ ” he laughed mirthlessly. “A better question would be what is wrong with _you!”_

“I’m worried about you, you twit,” Crowley snapped. “You’re acting completely off!”

“I told you—” Aziraphale began but the intractable demon just bowled over him. 

“Was it a book that got you? The witch examined the flowers you sent and there was no trace of a spell on them, so was it a book?”

Aziraphale pressed his fingers to his temples and tried to take a calming breath. Crowley seemed to take this as an affirmative and started pacing.

“Right, so you opened some fool book and got yourself cursed. Now at least we’re getting somewhere.”

“I’m not seeing any evidence of a curse,” Anathema warned Crowley. No doubt the witch _could_ see that Aziraphale was getting more than a touch miffed and no longer wanted to be in the neighbourhood. 

“Has to have been,” Crowley grumbled at her. “Look again.”

“Don’t,” Aziraphale warned.

“I don’t need to,” Anathema replied, her hands up in a pacifying gesture. “I only checked because a bespelled angel seemed like a dangerous thing to have on the loose, but since you’re not bespelled, I am not needed here. Best of luck to you both, but I’m off to find a cab.”

“Yeah, thanks for nothing,” Crowley snarled as she left. “Useless human.”

“Crowley, I already explained to you that I’m not in any danger,” Aziraphale told the demon, trying desperately to keep ahold of his temper. “What exactly was it that prompted this round of kidnapping and invasion of my metaphysical privacy?”

“You sent me yellow chrysanthemums,” Crowley scowled.

“Oh, well, please forgive me for my appalling crime,” Aziraphale huffed. “Honestly, Crowley. This is dramatic, even for you. Won’t you please just sit down and talk to me?”

“If you’re going to start saying something that makes even a bit of actual sense,” Crowley shot back.

“I am not cursed or otherwise bespelled,” Aziraphale told him firmly. “I don’t know how to prove that to you, but I’m perfectly myself.”

“So it seems,” Crowley nodded, his scowl softening into a concerned frown. “Still acting weird though.”

“I suppose I am,” Aziraphale sighed. “But I’ve already told you why, and you doubted my veracity and left the shop in a rage.”

“Yeah, because it was stupid,” Crowley scoffed. “You said you were in love with me, Angel, and that’s not funny. You’ve tried to push me away before and it didn’t work. Are you just trying a different method here or — drugs!” the demon exclaimed the last work with a sharp clap of his hands and Aziraphale blinked again, utterly mystified. 

Crowley immediately went to his writing desk and started rummaging in the drawers. “That’s why the witch didn’t see any spells around you. S’not magic, is it? That why you tossed a fit when I made that joke about cocaine? Are you experimenting with something? Dunno why you wouldn’t _share!”_

“Crowley!” Aziraphale objected, hurrying over to shut the demon out of his desk before he completely emptied its contents. “Get out of my personal things, thank you very much! I am _not_ taking any drugs!”

“Well then what gives?” Crowley whined, rounding on the angel. “Why would you—”

“I care about you, you miserable demon,” Aziraphale glowered, completely exasperated. “I have considered you my dearest companion in my heart, if not my head, and I know I haven’t been honest with you about that in the past, but—”

“Don’t,” Crowley slapped his hand over Aziraphale’s mouth. “Please don’t. You can’t do this, Aziraphale. You can’t.”

“Why?” Aziraphale asked, lightly taking Crowley’s wrist and pulling his palm away from his lips. He nearly pressed a kiss to the back of the demon’s hand (it would have been so easy) but suspected the gesture wouldn’t be appreciated. “Why can’t I?”

“Angel,” Crowley groaned, pulling his hand out of Aziraphale’s grasp. “I’m a _demon._ ”

“An exceptionally uncommon one,” Aziraphale told him softly. “You may be a demon, my dear, but you’re no more a font of evil than I am a bastion of pure good.”

“I don’t need to be a font of evil to be menace, Aziraphale” Crowley grumbled.

“Well, that _is_ true,” Aziraphale smiled fondly. “You are absolutely a menace.”

“Shaddup,” Crowley growled but he smiled, his brows lifted in amusement for a moment before the concern seemed to wash over him again. “Point is, I know for a fact that you don’t bloody love me, and saying you do is bordering on mean-spirited. If you’re trying to be rid of me then just say so.”

“I certainly don’t want to be rid of you, Crowley,” Aziraphale insisted immediately. “But I would very much like to hear about this so-called _fact_ of yours.” Crowley uttered a long, indistinct noise and gestured vaguely between them. Aziraphale lifted an eyebrow and waited for actual words. They weren’t forthcoming. 

“I’m sorry to inform you, my boy, that,” and here he mimicked Crowley’s silly sounds and hand gesture, “is not even a definitive _concept_ let alone an actual _fact_.”

“No, I mean, just everything!” Crowley argued. “Everything that’s happened between us before. Everything you’ve _said_ before. I’m sure you… _care_ about me in your way. You’re an angel. That’s what you do. But don’t say you _love_ me. Don’t send me yellow chrysanthemums.”

Aziraphale frowned at the mention of the flowers. Perhaps he overestimated Crowley’s knowledge of Floriography. “What is it that you think yellow chrysanthemums mean?” 

Crowley’s cheeks flushed a fetching shade of pink. It clashed rather absurdly with his scarlet hair but it was so charming Aziraphale had to smile.

“S’Optimism...right?” he muttered, shifting his weight side to side. “But the yellow means ‘slighted love’ which doesn’t make a bit sense.”

_Oh, my poor darling_ , Aziraphale thought sadly. _I’ve been slighting your love for centuries and never even knew_. “You ran away from me when I told you my feelings,” Aziraphale suggested instead. “But regardless, I have faith that we can work this out. Won’t you please come sit down so we can speak more comfortably?”

Crowley stared at him, his expression completely blank. He stood like that for over a minute and Aziraphale began to worry. “Crowley? Are you all right?”

“Did you say mice?” the demon suddenly demanded. It was Aziraphale’s turn to deadpan. Crowley came alive again, looking around them. “When I came in you told me to keep it down. Said I’d scare the mice. You have mice?”

“This shop is over a century old, my dear. Of course I have mice!”

“Shouldn’t you want me to scare them?” Crowley spat. “Don’t they eat your books?”

“They’re quite a bit more interested in my larder than my books,” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “But no. We have an understanding and they’re quite sweet little things, really.”

“You’ve made friends with the rodents?” Crowley snorted.

“I’m sorry, darling, but don’t you have a small army of rats at your disposal?” Aziraphale scoffed in return.

“They’re _employees_ ,” Crowley insisted. “Completely different.”

“I stand corrected,” Aziraphale relented. He was uninterested in discussing their rodentine acquaintances. He wanted resolution. He swept his arm to the side, inviting Crowley further into the back room. The demon raised an eyebrow, apparently surprised his little distraction didn’t work.

“I can’t stay,” Crowley grumbled. “I just came to make sure you weren’t cursed or under a spell or otherwise being coerced.”

“And now that you know that I’m not?” Aziraphale frowned, taking the demon’s hand. The palm was clammy and cold. The poor dear boy must have been so nervous. “Oh, Crowley. Please listen to me, my dear.” 

Crowley hissed quietly, shaking his hand loose of Aziraphale’s grasp once again. “You’re an angel. I’m a demon,” he muttered. “You may not be a _bastion of good_ but you’ve made it a long standing habit to keep my wickedness at arms-length. Why would that suddenly change?”

Aziraphale bit his lip, unsure how best to respond. The truth seemed like a bad option. Aziraphale wasn’t meant to find that journal, let alone read the thing. It was a terrible invasion of Crowley’s privacy and revealing his knowledge of Crowley’s secret feelings would no doubt leave the demon feeling violated and furious. 

“It… it isn’t sudden, the way I feel,” Aziraphale waffled, twisting his fingers in his waistcoat. “I’ve simply taken far too long to tell you, and then you were sleeping for so long I began to worry you’d be out for another century…”

That seemed like a plausible explanation that left the journal out of it. Aziraphale was a bit proud of himself for managing the secret that well. 

“I’m a demon,” Crowley sighed, leaning against the bookshelf again with exaggerated nonchalance. “Demons can’t love, Angel. You know that.”

Aziraphale blinked, feeling suddenly quite a bit cold. It was certainly the prevailing theory in Heaven that demons, being evil creatures of vice, were unable to love. However Crowley had proven himself capable of so many other virtues (Courage, mercy) that even without the journal as evidence, Aziraphale would have known this to be false. 

“You are an uncommon demon,” he repeated stiffly. _You love me. I know you do. Why are you pretending?_

Crowley shrugged apologetically. “M’not really,” he said. “M’just shit at my job, really.”

Aziraphale felt himself on the verge of tears and Crowley frowned, looking uncomfortable and embarrassed. He gripped his waistcoat firmly to keep his hands from shaking. 

“I see,” he muttered coldly. “I don’t believe that’s true, but I can see you’re not willing to discuss this at the moment.”

“I’m sorry, Angel. I really am,” Crowley told him. “You’re clearly upset and I’m sorry for that. You know I respect you, and our fffff-friendship means the world to me, but I can’t give you… that.”

“I’m not upset,” Aziraphale lied. “You just surprised me while I was dusting and my eyes are a bit irritated.”

“Right. ‘Course,” Crowley nodded. “I’ll let you get back to it then. Lunch later this week?”

“That would be wonderful, Crowely,” Aziraphale nodded, turning back to his writing desk to sort out the mess the demon had made of it. The bell didn’t ring because the door didn’t open, but he knew the demon had left all the same.

*****************

Crowley took the little journal out of his desk and glowered at it, reading the passages over and over. His heart was racing and he felt like he was about to vomit. He kept swallowing thickly against the waves of nausea. Panic was nipping at the back of his brain. He wouldn’t survive this. He was already so badly weakened by his own internal crisis. If the angel started playing with him like a kitten on a string, he might as well surrender himself to Gabriel and beg to have a holy sword thrust through his chest. It would be quicker.

Still, what if...?

Crowley took his cellular out and thumbed down to Aziraphale’s number, his finger hovering over the call button. 

He wouldn’t survive it. It wasn’t real, and even if it _was_ real (and it wasn’t) it wouldn’t work. The angel would catch on to that inevitability all too quickly and would call it off. He’d be kind about it, but that wouldn’t matter. Crowley would have had his heart’s desire only to have it ripped away. He wouldn’t survive it. He grimaced at the phone number, the nausea rising. He scrolled down to Luca’s number instead and sent a text.

**_Are you still angry with me?_ **

Seven minutes passed and Crowley had his head on the desk, his arms folded over his face, when the phone pinged a response. 

**_Yes._ **

**_Come over and work it out?_ **

**_Don’t think so._ **

Crowley scratched his chin, gazing down at the little screen. He did _not_ want to be alone tonight.

**_I’m sorry I burned you. Won’t happen again._ **

**_Sure won’t._ **

“Fuck,” Crowley spat, typing furiously.

**_Another bottle of Scotch then._ **

**_I’m not a prostitute Crowley. Just have one off the wrist. You’ll be fine._ **

**_I need more than that._ **

“Shiiiit,” Crowley groaned. Why were people forcing him to say the uncomfortable things he didn’t want to bloody say? 

**_What we talked about in 1979._ **

There was another long pause where Crowley stared at his phone with ever mounting dread. He was about to hurl the bloody device against the wall when it chirped again.

**_Are you asking me to hit you?_ **

**_You’re mad at me aren’t you?_ **

**_I’m not a Dom._ **

**_I don’t want a dom._ **

**_I want someone to remind me I’m a demon._ **

Another pause. Crowley stared at the wall, reconsidering his plan to just sod off into the stars. The phone chirped.

**_Make me a drink first._ **

**_I’m not doing this angry._ **

**_Coming over now?_ **

  
  


**_Be there in 30._ **

Crowley breathed out a sigh and put the cellular away. One way or another he’d get his brain washed clean tonight. It was the best he could hope for, really.

He summoned up a pen and opened the journal to a fresh page, tapping his teeth thoughtfully before finally setting the pen to paper.

  
  


_November, 2020_

_Been a weird century. I picked Earth over Hell and Aziraphale and I single handedly convinced the Antichrist to stop the war and keep the world as it is._

This was glossing over enough details to fill a whole book but Crowley figured it was close enough to the truth to do for his journaling purposes.

_We both got sacked for it. Survived our respective trials and have been left to do whatever we want to do on Earth. I let myself get sucked back into Aziraphale’s orbit. It was necessary for the eleven years we worked together to save the world, but after that it was just laziness. It took too much effort to pull myself out of his gravity well, and it was comfortable there for a while._

_But I’ve lost myself or I let myself be lost. It was nice, and maybe I let myself pretend that it was all right for me to just be the angel’s friend. I didn’t listen to my own warnings. I let myself get too close and didn’t even notice him crushing me._

_Now he’s talking about love, sending me flowers, claiming to have had feelings for me this whole bloody time! He loved me when he accused me of the reign of terror? He loved me when he cast my request for protection in the pond like so much duck feed? He loved me when he called me vile and fiend?_

_He loved me when he endlessly chose Heaven over me? He loved me that day at the bandstand?_

_All this time I thought I had to keep my distance from him, protect him from my rabid feelings because I was putting him in danger. I’m the one in danger! I’m the one who has had his useless black heart ripped out again and again and again by a reckless Principality who, presumably, loved me while doing it._

_So here is a new warning for Anthony J. Crowley to Anthony J. Crowley._

_He doesn’t love you. He says he does, but he doesn’t. I’m no longer convinced the angel even knows what that even means!_

_Don’t let him convince you he does. Don’t entertain the thought of some happily ever after with him. No amount of time or distance from Hell will change the fact that you are Fallen. You’re a demon, and you’ve both spent too long being enemies to suddenly become, what, lovers?_

_For Somebody’s sake. Lovers? You and the angel? Lovers. You idiot. No._

_He’s probably not trying to be cruel. Maybe he’s confused. Maybe he’s lost himself as much as you have. Maybe this is his way of finding some certainty or control in a terrifying new epoch where Heaven wants him dead and I’m the only one who doesn’t._

_All the more reason to keep your hands and lips to yourself. You can protect him from the fallout, but at this point, honestly. You need to protect your own damn self._

_Don’t let him crush you anymore. Don’t let him rip your heart out. It might be black and useless but it is the only one you’ve got. This will end badly, and when it does, you will NOT survive it._

_You’re a demon. Start acting like it. Demons don’t love._

“Demons don’t love,” Crowley muttered, closing the journal and putting it away in its secret drawer. “Demons don’t love,” he repeated, getting up and drifting into the kitchen to start making Luca’s drink, and something even stronger for himself. “Demons don’t love,” he muttered as he buzzed the incubus up.

 _Demons don’t love_ , he thought bitterly before he nodded his consent and Luca’s fist connected spectacularly with his jaw. _Demons don’t love_ , he sobbed into the mattress as the cane struck his bare skin over and over. _Demons don’t love_ , he sighed as Luca knelt between his knees and took him into his mouth, swallowing him down while Crowley cried out for more.

Three hours later, Luca was passed out in a tangle of gorgeous limbs and black sheets. His knuckles had long since healed, getting more than enough energy from fucking Crowley blind.

The demon drank the incubus’ Scotch, and limped another lazy lap around his flat. He couldn’t sleep. The forums he’d been on suggested it was just nerves and he would be able to sleep next time. Something to look forward to.

He took another sip and winced as the whiskey stung his swollen lip. He clucked his tongue, frowning as a bit of the amber alcohol sloshed onto his wrist. He healed himself with a snap, and took another sip unimpeded before licking the spilled booze off his own skin. He was just finishing up washing his hand like a cat when he noticed the little light on his answerphone flashing. 

He frowned and considered deleting it without listening. That would be the smart thing to do. But Crowley was never really that smart. He flopped down in his throne and hit the play button.

_Hello, My dear. I wanted to call to apologize for things going so poorly between us again. I understand that you must find all this terribly confusing considering the churlish way I have treated you in the past. I hope someday you will be able to see that it was only ever my own weakness and fear that caused me to push you away. It was never that you were undeserving._

_I took the time to think over what you had said about our friendship meaning the world to you, and I hope you know it means just as much to me. If truly this is the closest we are meant to be, I would be honoured and content to have you as my friend._

_However, I still have faith that there is more between us. I know what you said, but I don’t believe for a second that you are incapable of love. If it is simply that you don’t love me, then I humbly request that you give me the opportunity to change your mind. I ask that you grant me the honour of wooing you as you deserve._

_I would begin by asking you to dinner. Perhaps Wednesday evening? Please let me know if you’d be willing, dear. I very much hope that you are. Sleep well, Crowley._

The answerphone beeped and played through his options while Crowley stared wide-eyed at the blasted machine, sloshing his drink again in his shaking hand.

“Wot the ffffuck?” he whispered, his heart thoroughly lodged in his throat, and a hot flush playing across his face. Wooing? First of all, what century did the angel think this was, and secondly What the fuck?! What the absolute infernal fuck?

Crowley hissed to himself and stared miserably into his glass and wondered how much Scotch it would cost him to keep the incubus on retainer.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your Kudos fetch Crowley an icepack.  
> Your comments steal that journal so it can't do any further damage.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to Woo your demon: Fancy Dinner!
> 
> Aziraphale has planned the perfect dinner for Crowley. 
> 
> Crowley struggles with his anxiety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for anxiety/panic attack and a lying depressive mind.

Crowley pressed his back into the car seat as Aziraphale got into the passenger side and fastened the buckle. He’d been dreading this dinner all week and considered cancelling at least five times. He’d rehearsed what he would say to the angel over and over, hardly managing to focus on anything else. Now that Aziraphale was seated beside him, casting him an apprehensive sideways glance of his own, Crowley found his tongue had tied itself in knots.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I happen to know the chef at this nice little bistro over in Kensington, and I’ve set up a little tasting menu that I think you’ll really—”

“I can’t —” Crowley blurted out, interrupting Aziraphale with the start of a loud proclamation that died mid sentence and left them both hanging. He glared straight ahead and cleared his throat. “Sorry. Just tell me where to drive.”

Aziraphale gave him the directions and Crowley got them to the bistro in record time, doing his best to ignore Aziraphale’s fretful glances. He all but fled the car once they’d parked, and slouched his way to the kerb, hands in his pockets, trying to reorganize his thoughts. He almost had them sorted by the time they came to the front of the bistro. He reached to open the door for the angel, but Aziraphale stopped him with a gentle hand against his shoulder. Crowley froze immediately, and Aziraphale dropped his hand back to his side.

“I can see you don’t want to do this,” Aziraphale told him. Crowley started to argue, say he was fine, or say what he’d rehearsed or say  _ something finally _ , but the angel continued. “Let’s, perhaps, take a step back from all I’ve said and just have a nice supper. This doesn’t have to be anything else. Would that be best?”

That would be a thousand times better than what Crowley had been trying and failing to prepare himself for all week. He surprised himself with the loud sigh of relief that came tearing out of his lungs and had to laugh weakly.

“Yeah… that would be easier,” Crowley admitted. Aziraphale gave him a tight smile and opened the door, politely offering for him to go on in first, as usual. They were shown to their table in a secluded room and Crowley sat facing the door as was his habit. He let himself hide behind the wine list for as long as felt he could without looking suspicious.

"I'm not sure if you heard me earlier but I took the liberty of ordering ahead," Aziraphale's voice was quiet, apologetic, and Crowley abandoned his new study of the tablecloth and met the angel's gentle smile.

"Uh, yeah. You mentioned that," Crowley nodded. "A tasting menu, right? I thought you said you were familiar with the chef. Figured you'd know what you liked. Suddenly indecisive?" 

He meant it as a light-hearted joke but it fell flat. Aziraphale's answering chuckle was equally weak. 

"Indecisive? Me? You're joking," the angel gave a self-deprecating smile. Crowley felt weird about it all and was about to take his comment back when Aziraphale continued. "This isn't for me, though. I wanted to do something special for you. A six course meal. "

"Me?" Crowley frowned, suddenly very aware of his pulse. It beat uncomfortably on either side of his throat. "I'm not really as into food as you are, Angel."

"I know. The smallest appetite I've ever seen," Aziraphale agreed. "Please indulge me, dear. I think you'll enjoy this. Honestly, it’s mostly alcohol.”

That  _ did _ sound promising, so Crowley held off his grumbling until proven to have something worth grumbling about. Normally he’d have felt free to grumble regardless, but this situation was stressful enough without him adding to it. Aziraphale plucked the wine menu out of Crowley’s hand and folded it off to the side and a server seemed to take that as a cue to arrive with the first course. 

“Oysters a la Russe” Aziraphale announced merrily as they were both presented with a small bowl of shaved ice supporting a single oyster topped with vodka relish. Crowley snorted in amusement at the tiny, beautifully prepared offering. Another server poured them each a small glass of white burgundy before retreating from the room. 

Aziraphale picked up his shell in his delicate fingers, lifting it to his nose before tipping the shell’s contents into his mouth. Crowley watched the angel eat, noting his pleasure, and it wasn’t until Aziraphale reached for his wine that Crowley remembered the course was over and he ought to eat his own now that there was nothing left to watch. 

He took up his own shell and tossed it back, licking out the shell before digging it back into the ice. The sharp flavours were perfectly delicious, but Crowley would never have bothered with more than one. He had to smile a bit as he slid the bowl of ice aside and sipped his wine.

“This is ridiculous,” he told the grinning angel. “You are ridiculous. Are they all going to be like that?”

“I believe I was clear,” Aziraphale giggled. “Everything will be scaled to fit your appetite, my dear. Short on food, but not flavour. The drinks will be normal sized however.”

“Trying to get me drunk?” Crowley smirked, and instantly regretted it, swallowing more wine. Aziraphale scoffed and toyed with his oyster shell. It was shocking how easy it was to slide back into the old routines. Dining, drinking, teasing. Even after begging himself all week not to let his guard down, Crowley had to go say something flirty! He blushed, angrily scolding himself for sending the angel mixed messages.  _ Stupid! Stupid stupid idiot demon. _

He risked another glance at his friend to see how badly his joke landed. Would the angel be offended? After the way Crowley had called him out on the whole ‘love confession’ mess would that have sounded like an accusation? 

Or would he be emboldened, rightfully thinking Crowley had been flirting, but wrongly believing he could follow through?

Would he want Crowley to follow through?

Aziraphale picked up his shell again and began talking about some article he'd read in the paper about using crushed oyster shells in gardening and Crowley leaned back again, pressed his back against the chair, and tried to stop overthinking everything.

The welts on his back throbbed, the panic receded, and his mind cleared in time for him to politely remind Aziraphale he didn't need to worry much about crushed oyster shells in his gardening, what with indoor pots and demonic powers and all. 

They managed small talk and drained their glasses in time for the next “course”, an oxtail consommé served in a jigger. Crowley actually laughed when the server set the consommé down and repeated his accusation of ridiculousness. Aziraphale daintily sipped his soup, his eyes shining with mirth as their wine glasses were replaced with fresh ones for sherry.

“It is good to see you laughing,” Aziraphale smiled warmly at him and Crowley cleared his throat, embarrassed now. He probably hadn’t been the best of company before his impromptu nap. His crippling ennui had been getting progressively worse for months and it was only when he found being around Aziraphale completely unbearable that he decided it best to just go to sleep for a while. It hadn’t been fair to Aziraphale, he knew that, but it was too difficult to explain his malaise, and the thought of the always-eager-to-help angel trying to pull him out of his doldrums was too much for Crowley to bear.

“Yeh. Been a shit few months, really,” Crowley shrugged. “S’why I figured the nap would help.” He picked up the sherry glass, but it was pretty inadequate as hiding places went. Aziraphale frowned in concern, seemingly hiding behind his own glass.

“I do hope it wasn’t something I did,” he sighed. “I know I’m not always the most… astute when it comes to your feelings and I can blunder about terribly sometimes.”

“Wasn’t you, Angel,” Crowley assured him. “Just… everything.”

“Everything,” Aziraphale repeated. “Quite right.”

The silence stretched between them until the three servers returned to replace their empty dishes with the fish course. Butter-poached sous-vide lobster, this time. A small section no longer than Crowley’s thumb curled on a small crostini round with shaved shallot, parsley, and more clarified butter. Sauvignon blanc was poured before the humans faded away in the ghostly manner of those well trained in the service industry.

“Are you feeling any better now, after your nap?” the angel asked after consuming the decadent morsel and dabbing the corner of his mouth with his serviette. Crowley knew the question was coming and was still unprepared for it. He had no greater desire to discuss his sorry mood with Aziraphale now than he had before. 

“M’fine,” he promised, forcing a smile before shoving the lobster in his mouth as an excuse to stop talking. He chewed, finding the contrasting textures pleasant, and wishing he could enjoy it more. This whole ridiculous dinner was delicious and perfectly proportioned. It was  _ thoughtful. _ He wasn’t used to this amount of thought and care going into something just for him. It was special, and Crowley would have lapped it up before, would have cherished every course. He wouldn’t have considered it at all out of character for the angel either, if it hadn’t been for the bizarre love confessions or the chrysanthemums.

It was a little harder to dismiss all this as a friendly gesture afterwards though, and the discussion of feelings, even those unrelated to Aziraphale’s odd behaviour, felt even more dangerous. 

“You don’t have to talk to me about it,” Aziraphale told him, turning his wine inside his glass. “I’d rather you not lie to me though, if you wouldn’t mind.” Crowley looked up at the angel again sharply. Aziraphale met his gaze unflinching. “You never made a habit of lying to me before, and you’re not terribly good at it. Just tell me to mind my own business if you can’t talk to me about what’s wrong.”

Crowley felt his cheeks flush, and it took every ounce of his generally sketchy self-control to keep from laughing loudly in bitter mockery. No reason to terrify the staff who so expertly created and served this meal, or the other patrons just because Aziraphale was being an utter prat.

“You’ll mind your own business?” he hissed. “ _ Can you do that, Aziraphale? _ Doesn’t seem in your nature, that.”

“I won’t apologize for being concerned, Crowley,” Aziraphale responded levelly. “Did you even glance at a mirror today?”

Crowley pressed himself against the back of his chair, surprised by the question. Had he? He hadn’t exactly been preening in the last week and although he’d been obsessed with fretting over this dinner excursion, he hadn’t exactly put much effort into preparing for it. He showered and dressed but…  _ Shit! _ He  _ was _ wearing his glasses right? 

His hand flew to his temple where he was relieved to feel the metal and plastic arm of his sunglasses. Aziraphale’s eyes widened slightly at the panicked gesture and he frowned. 

“You usually take such pride in your appearance,” Aziraphale whispered. “And while I certainly find you handsome regardless, I’m surprised you’d come out without styling your hair. And I tried to ignore that and I might not have mentioned it if it weren’t for the  _ bruises _ .”

Stupid. Stupid rookie mistakes. Crowley really was losing his mind. Doing his best not to snarl at Aziraphale or himself, the demon snapped his fingers under the table and expended a small amount of energy to heal his bruises and fix his hair.

“Dunno wot you’re going on about,” Crowley shrugged, leaning on the old standbys of plead ignorance and gaslight the shit out of the angel. He might feel almost guilty about it if Aziraphale hadn’t done it to him just as often over the years. Another one of the games they’ve played across the expanse of time. 

Aziraphale scowled at him, no doubt feeling the ripples of demonic energy. It was probably a little insulting, to be honest. He wasn’t surprised when the angel took a telling breath, puffing himself up to deliver a proper scolding, and Crowley smiled when he had to abort as the servers reappeared with the next course.

The main course was a ridiculously tiny beef wellington! The little hors derve was served alongside a perfectly seasoned new potato and a single green bean. Red bordeaux was paired with it. Crowley slid his knife through the flaky pastry crust and had to chuckle (despite the weight of Aziraphale's stare) to find the meat perfectly medium rare.

"This is  _ very _ impressive," Crowley smirked, seizing the opportunity to change the subject. "I can't imagine how difficult it would be to cook the pastry perfectly around a cut of meat  _ this small _ and have it still present at the table medium rare."

Aziraphale sliced into his own miniature Wellington and Crowley was relieved when he smiled as well.

"Perfect," Aziraphale sighed.

"Miraculously so," Crowley smirked. The other dishes were ridiculous but, at LEAST they were probable.

"The chef is a witch. Her magic is bolstered by her love of good food," Aziraphale admitted quietly after double checking the staff had left. "Although I  _ may _ have tossed her a couple blessings after she agreed to try this for me."

"Well… it's been a spectacular meal so far," Crowley told him, biting into the tender-crisp green bean. "She'll have a lot of success here."

"I'm sure of it," Aziraphale nodded, sipping his wine, and that was that. The conversation died and they drank in silence until the next course came.

The traditional salad course. In this case a Caesar salad, presented as a single leaf of romaine rolled around curls of fresh parmesan, salty lardons, seasoned crostini and dressing. Gewürztraminer to drink.

Crowley really  _ was _ impressed, and he was reminded of the thoughtfulness of this dinner. "This really is... special, Angel," Crowley muttered. "Thank you for organizing this."

"I'm glad you're enjoying it," Aziraphale responded politely. Crowley risked glancing up from his glass and met Aziraphale's gaze.. 

"I'm fine!" he assured the angel, finally cracking under the pressure of those puppy dog eyes (And he thought  _ he  _ was the one with the unrelenting stare!) "Just a little distracted lately is all. Nothing to fuss about."

"All right," Aziraphale frowned, little worry lines wrinkling between his eyes. "I will cease fussing then."

Crowley figured that was unlikely, but Aziraphale immediately started telling him about a misprint of Jane Eyre he was trying to track down, and if the angel still looked a bit troubled about the eyes, at least he was keeping his concern to himself. Crowley leaned on the table, chin in his palm, and listened to the angel prattle on about safe, unimportant things until the coffee course came.

It was an exquisite cup of espresso with a small dark chocolate curl on the side. It vanished quickly as Aziraphale switched the topic to real estate, discussing how much the rents had increased in Soho and how he'd had yet again been approached by a shifty real estate person looking to buy his shop. Aziraphale was now considering using some of his considerable wealth to buy up the entire block out of spite.

Crowley laughed at that. “Are you going to war with the local mafia, Angel?” he snickered, only halfway concerned the angel just might. At least that would be interesting. It would provide Crowley with ample distraction, although it might put a number of human criminals in mortal danger, collateral damage Aziraphale wouldn’t likely tolerate.

“I should think it would be a cold war at best,” Aziraphale sniffed. “I’m sure they’d come to their senses quickly.”

Crowley was less certain. They’d been trying to purchase Aziraphale’s shop for decades. They’d move on after a couple good scares, but a few years later some other goon would take up the cause. Maybe Crowley  _ should _ look into it. Aziraphale was never going to sell that shop, and it didn’t used to be much of a concern before the End that Wasn’t. Now, all it would take is a lucky shot, a well aimed bullet, and Aziraphale would be gone.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice cut through the agonizing chill of sudden panic, and Crowley slammed his back against the chair, hissing at the pain lancing across his broken skin, but relaxing in immediate relief as his mind sharpened into focus.

Aziraphale was staring at him, as were the three servers who had come to take their dishes and bring out the last course.

“Are you all right, sir?” the sommelier asked. Crowley pressed his lips together to control his hissing and his scowl, waving the humans away. He flushed angrily as he looked down at his dessert course: A single triangle of old Welsh cheddar topped with black currant preserves. 

Once again, a perfect dessert choice. Sharp and salty, with a little bitter with the sweet. It broke his heart how well the angel knew the parts of Crowley he’d been allowed to know.

The sommelier poured two small glasses of ice wine for them and the humans left them to their stilted conversation. 

Aziraphale didn’t say anything. Crowley sighed, seeing the brimming wetness in the blue eyes, knowing the angel had to be so frustrated with him and expending a great deal of effort in order to keep his promise to mind his own business now that Crowley was acting so weird. 

“Sorry,” Crowley mumbled, feeling he owed the angel  _ something _ . “Might have… had a bit of panic there for a moment.” 

“You did go rather white,” Aziraphale nodded. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Mmmmm… avoid getting shot by mafia goons now that you can’t just get a fresh body?” Crowley suggested, taking a sip of the too-sweet wine. He sucked his teeth and set the glass down. That had been the only disappointment in the menu.

“I’ll do my best, dear,” Aziraphale responded dryly before pushing his chair back and folding his serviette back on the table. “Perhaps you should take me home so we can call it a day.”

Crowley frowned at that. He’d wanted this dinner to be over before it even began. Curious how calling an end to it now could feel like a slap. It shouldn’t. He didn’t blame Aziraphale for wanting to go home.  _ Crowley _ wanted to go home. Just… not like this. He always hated parting with the angel when the space between them was a raw open wound. He used to tell himself it would heal better with distance, but it never did.

Aziraphale had already arranged payment in advance and refused any compensation from Crowley (“I told you this was supposed to be my treat to you!”), so they left the restaurant and returned to the Bentley surrounded by another pocket of thick heavy silence. Crowley was at his wits’ end with the bloody silences. 

“Why are you doing this?” he muttered, finding himself unable to start the car and drive. His head was ringing with everything that was going unsaid. 

“I’m not entirely sure what you’re referring to,” Aziraphale responded flatly. “Are you asking why I asked you to dinner? Or—”

“You left me a message saying you wanted to woo me!” Crowley snapped. “And then you take me to this meal that is…”  _ Perfect _ . A perfect meal, organized by someone who knew Crowley so  _ perfectly  _ well...

“I think I made my intentions clear, but then I saw how uncomfortable I was making you and I thought it best if I backed off a bit,” Aziraphale huffed. “Was that wrong?”

“No,” Crowley grumbled. “But…”

“Crowley, I’m sorry I upset you when I confessed my feelings for you,” Aziraphale said, sounding not sorry at all. “I should have known it was poor timing. I would have, had I only considered the way you’ve been acting before you went to sleep.”

“Nuh?” Crowley uttered, confused.

“I felt perhaps that my feelings were reciprocated, and perhaps there was a time when they  _ were,”  _ Aziraphale sighed, his tone softening as he twisted his fingers together on his lap. “But a lot has happened, and it makes sense that your feelings may have changed… and I’m certainly no expert in discussing such things, so I can’t fault you for it but…”

“I don’t see what any of this has to do with  _ my _ feelings,” Crowley lied. “I’m a demon, Aziraphale. Our waters don’t run terribly deep.”

“You started withdrawing a few months after we parted ways with our respective offices,” Aziraphale continued, ignoring Crowley’s petty comment. “You didn’t seem interested in much of anything at the time, and then you decided to sleep and… wait…” Aziraphale’s brow furrowed thoughtfully and Crowley glanced sideways at him before starting the car. Something told him it was time to start driving.

“Wait a minute…” Aziraphale mused, pursing his lips. “Crowley, are you...depressed?”

“Fuck! No!” Crowley snapped. Why were people insisting he was depressed? He was surrounded by bloody imbeciles! Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and Crowley swallowed the rest of his explosive rage, letting it curdle in all the alcohol in his stomach. "Not depressed, no," he added quietly. "Just not sleeping well."

"If you need someone to talk to, I'd be happy to listen," Aziraphale offered kindly. 

"Not really my thing, Angel," Crowley snorted.

"Talking to someone?" Aziraphale asked. "Or talking to  _ me _ ?"

Crowley tossed him an angry look. Only Aziraphale could ask a ridiculous question, and then get offended when Crowley answered it.

"Talking about  _ feelings _ ," he clarified since the angel was being particularly obtuse apparently. "With  _ anyone _ !"

"Yes, that's abundantly clear," the angel muttered. 

"M'not depressed!" Crowley snarled. "Satan's bollocks, Angel! I'm fine. Missing my friend a bit but otherwise my life continues apace as usual."

"How could it?" Aziraphale demanded. "You've been cut off from Hell. How could your life possibly be unchanged? I know quite a bit has changed for  _ me _ !"

Crowley chewed the inside of his cheek and gripped the steering wheel, letting the stitching of the leather bite his palms. 

"You know what I meant," Crowley growled. Aziraphale sulked, stiffly looking out the window and not even complaining as Crowley drove at breakneck speed. 

_ Quite a bit has changed for me. _ Obviously. Heaven kicked him out. Aziraphale had tried to discuss it before when it was all still fresh, dancing around any possible comparison to Crowley's more horrific separation from Heaven. It had been one of the most awkward conversations Crowley had ever had with Aziraphale. 

This one was much worse than that.

"Obviously s'different not having to report in. Not having to worry about where they're gonna send me or what they're gonna have me do. But other than that, pretty much the same, innit?"

"I suppose," the angel replied, which was classic Aziraphale for 'no'.

"What's different for you, then?" Crowley demanded, fed up with the passive aggression.

"We're safe, for one," Aziraphale grumbled and Crowley laughed bitterly. Safe. Nothing would ever be safe. They'd made innumerable enemies. All it would take is one little accident. One wrong move. One bullet. One…

Great. Like he needed  _ this _ new anxiety to obsess over. 

"Safe to finally be ourselves," the angel went on, still staring out the window. "I don't have to fret over being this less-than-perfect soldier of God. I no longer need to suffer Sandalphon's threats or Gabriel's comments about my gut..."

"Wait, wot?" Crowley 's anxiety record-scratched to a halt at the mention of the archangels, but Aziraphale continued, unfazed, while Crowley seethed and looked for a place to pull over.

"I can finally do what I wish, with whom I wish and that is a great difference. I miss Heaven sometimes. I miss…  _ Her  _ most of all, but I'm happier now than I ever have been. I'm happy just to be with you without fear. That changes everything. for me at least."

That was a lot to unpack, and it felt incredibly important to unpack it but…

"Sandalphon threatened you?" Crowley hissed, slithering the Bentley into a reserved parking spot and killing the engine. Aziraphale blinked at him in bewilderment and Crowley wanted to shake the maddening angel, shout at him for answers, surround him in the armour of his scales and lash out at his enemies with fangs and venom until no one would ever risk hurting the idiot again. "Wot did Gabriel say to you?"

Aziraphale's pale brows drew down into a stubborn frown and Crowley clenched his jaw in response to the clench in his stomach. That frown spoke volumes.  _ Why should I answer you? Why should I tell you anything when you won't talk to me?  _ And he had a point, but the rules were just different when Crowley was the one asking the questions. Everyone knew that.

“It doesn’t really matter anymore, Crowley,” the angel responded. “That’s my point. The only one I worry about disappointing now is you.”

“Y’not a disappointment, angel. You never were,” Crowley grumbled. “Stupid archangels. Wish I could feather ‘em. Leave ‘em standing there with wrinkly pink chicken wings, the arseholes.”

Aziraphale gave an undignified “pfffff” of laughter and hid a grin behind his hand. “I do appreciate the mental picture, dear. Thank you for that.”

“S’not funny,” Crowley growled. “They shoulda respected you better. Never understood why they didn’t. You’re a fucking principality!”

“Yes, but my inadequacies rather detracted from my rank,” Aziraphale sighed with a casual wave as though he were discussing a plate of cookies that happened to include raisins. (Crowley always thought oatmeal raisin cookies got unfair flack, but he acknowledged he wasn’t an expert.)

“Inadequacies?” Crowley scoffed. “Wot inadequacies? I thought Heaven was happy with your performance.” The sick feeling in his stomach returned. Had he messed up the blessings he’d performed on the angel’s behalf as part of the Arrangement? Was this his fault somehow?

“They were happy enough,” Aziraphale shrugged. “They weren’t  _ unhappy _ , certainly, but Heaven is so obsessed with perfection and I’m just …” he sighed and made a floppy hand gesture that seemed to encompass all of himself. Crowley wanted to scream.

“No. They’re idiots then. You’re fine,” Crowley snapped, furious that this had been going on, that Aziraphale had still been bullied, and by lesser angels in Crowley’s esteem at that. They were  _ all  _ lesser angels as far as Crowley was concerned, but still...

“I know,” Aziraphale sighed. “I’m actually quite content with my corporation. It isn’t the loveliest but it suffices. And I have done my best by the World. Their opinions don’t matter to me, as I was saying. I don’t have to humour them any longer. I’m really not sure you’re hearing me.”

“Nuh,” Crowley shrugged, noncommittal. He was still kicking himself over telling the angel he was  _ 'fine', _ and reeling over Aziraphale's suggestion he didn't look perfectly lovely. “M’glad you understand they’re piss entities. Fuck’em.” 

He pulled back into traffic, still stewing over the fucking  _ audacity  _ of archangels. “M’glad that, as far as the scales go, you’re more happy to be free than you are nostalgic or adrift. Wos worried maybe you’d be… I dunno… lost.” He winced, painfully aware he was projecting now.

Aziraphale was watching him again, his clever mind working away behind his pale eyes. Thinking thinking thinking. Crowley could feel his eyes on him as he drove and the gaze itched. He could feel the angel working all the little knots loose, untangling the problem that was Crowley.

“Quit it,” he hissed. “Ssstop staring at me.”

“You say you’re not depressed,” Aziraphale murmured as he continued to stare. Crowley swallowed another growl. “But you don’t look like you’re happy either.”

“S’just my face,” Crowley grunted. “Never look happy.”

“But  _ are  _ you happy?” Aziraphale queried, eyeing Crowley curiously. “Have you  _ ever  _ been happy?”

Crowley groaned, flooded with incomprehension. What kind of question was that? “Does schadenfreude count?" he responded wearily. As far as he could recall, that was the closest he felt to joy.

"I'm  _ clearly _ not talking about schadenfreude,” Aziraphale volleyed back wryly. “I’m asking you if you’ve ever been happy. Have you ever just  _ enjoyed _ something all on its own, without having to link it to a temptation, or wile, or some other responsibility.”

“I don’t know, Aziraphale,” Crowley groaned. “What does it matter?”

“Wow…” the angel laughed mirthlessly. “I’m sorry that you can’t see how your happiness should matter. I can only try to assure you that it matters to me.”

Anger flared, bright and hot, as snippets of memory crowded Crowley’s already busy mind with  _ ‘you were an angel once’ _ and _ ‘unforgivable. That’s what I am’ _ , and the agonizing cold of ‘ _ it’s over’ _ . 

He should let it go. That was the smart thing. That was the  _ sane  _ thing. Let it go. Nothing wrong with Aziraphale wanting him to be happy. Perfectly natural thing for an angel to want. He doesn’t mean anything by it. He was being kind. Crowley was the one who started the whole ‘our side’ thing and Aziraphale was just trying to look out for him now that he was allowed to. He just said as much. He shouldn’t twist it into an insult. He shouldn’t lash out and finally destroy what’s already crumbling. He should Just. Shut. Up.

“I don’t need you to fix me, Aziraphale,” he snapped. _ Fucking damn it!  _ “I don’t need to be bloody fixed.”

“I’m not try—”

“Wot makes you think demons should be happy?” Crowley snarled. “Maybe that shit got burned out of us with everything else remotely holy or good.”

“I honestly couldn’t care less if demons were happy,” Aziraphale spat. “I care a great deal about  _ you.  _ You’re not like other demons.”

“Yes I am!” Crowley shouted. “I’m a bloody demon! Maybe I’m shite at it, but it’s all I can be, Aziraphale. There’s literally nothing else I can be! And don’t remind me I was an angel once. I was only ever an angel so I could Fall. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with all my shite room-temperature evil now, but I know I’m still a  _ demon _ . Stop trying to make me into something else!”

He slammed the brakes, arriving outside the bookshop too late to avoid exploding like a lunatic, but at least it was almost over. Crowley was shaking at this point and his face and neck felt hot. He had a moment of terror that he was about to burst into hellfire and burn the angel, before realizing it was just human stress response nonsense and somehow getting even angrier. He squeezed his eyes shut and squeezed his grip on the wheel, squeezed himself tight  _ tight tight, strangle it, smother it all, kill it so it stops screaming... _

“Demons don’t get to be happy. They don’t get to enjoy anything. Would only ruin it anyway. Part and parcel of eternal damnation. Can’t win. Can’t rest. Can’t love. Can’t Can’t Can’t _can’tcan’t—_ ” Crowley couldn't speak. He couldn’t take a breath, push the air out past his too- sharp teeth to make words. He was wrapped up so tight it pushed tears from his yellow eyes. He felt them ooze under his glasses as he rocked forwards and back and his mind blanked out amid the fresh panic of suffocation.

“Shhhhhh.”

He was surrounded in white feathers and the shock of it set off a round of spasmodic coughing. He’d scream at the angel to hide his fucking wings, but he was only capable of unintentional sounds of panic and he was powerless to fight it when a heavy wing pinned him against the old threadbare sofa.

Crowley distantly remembered that they’d been in the Bentley, but now they were in the shop, hidden away so mortal eyes couldn’t see Crowley quaking beneath massive angel wings. The panic took forever to subside, but it  _ did  _ subside and Crowley now had  _ this _ fresh humiliation to deal with.

“How long have you been having these attacks?” Aziraphale asked calmly as Crowley’s breathing slowed. The drumming of his heart quieted in his ears, and another heartbeat made itself known alongside the knocking at his ribs. Crowley opened his eyes and saw that he was curled up against the angel, head on his chest and white fingers clawing into the soft fabric of his waistcoat. He recoiled, shoving himself away from Aziraphale, wondering how it was possible to be  _ more _ embarrassing. He immediately fell back into a mass of fluffy white feathers as his recoil propelled him into the angel’s wing.

“Easy, dear!” Aziraphale consoled him. “Everything is all right. Please, just take a breath.” Crowley hissed, trying desperately to right himself in the tangle of down and fluff. Aziraphale curled his wing around the demon, must have done, it shouldn’t be this difficult to escape. “Please don’t pop off while you’re in this state,” Aziraphale pleaded. “I’m not sure it is terribly safe for you to drive like this.”

“Lemme go!” Crowley snarled and the wing opened then disappeared as Aziraphale tucked it back into the metaphysical realm. Crowley eyed the angel warily. “S’ry. Dunno what happened… I just…” he trailed off, suddenly too exhausted to try lying to Aziraphale. “Fuck… pretty much been like this off and on since I was given that bloody basketful of antichrist to deliver,” he muttered, putting his feet on the ground so he could lean forward over his knees. Aziraphale took that cue to lightly rub his back, which hadn’t been what Crowley was intending but did feel pretty nice at the moment. “Been worse since Armageddon, but don’t know why. S’my problem though. Didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“I’m sorry I made things more difficult for you,” Aziraphale told him gently. “I wouldn’t have burdened you with my…” now it was the angel who was trailing off, blushing. “I would have taken it for bad timing had I known you were suffering so.”

Crowley looked at the angel, fiddling with his fingers, looking guilty and upset and it was suddenly abundantly clear to the demon that Aziraphale really wasn’t under any spell or curse. He had been of as much sound mind as he ever was when he’d confessed his feelings to Crowley. All of the demon’s insistence to the contrary must have been terribly frustrating and insulting.

“SssSuffering’s my jam, really,” Crowley muttered, feeling his cheeks flush at the way he treated Aziraphale when he was being vulnerable, especially in contrast to the care the angel had shown him just now. Especially in light of what should have been a spectacular dinner by rights if Crowley weren’t who and what he was. “Thanks for… everything really. Big of you to be so hospitable while I was being such a prat.”

“Much practice,” Aziraphale gently teased with a warm smile. Crowley recognized the invitation to return to normalcy, make a joke about all the times the angel had been the prat, tease back and forth and put a safer distance between their friendship and whatever the hell today had been. Aziraphale was offering to sublimate his feelings for Crowley’s comfort. How  _ infuriatingly _ ironic. Crowley really would have to be an arsehole to let Aziraphale think he was alone in wanting more.

On the other hand, just because Aziraphale wasn’t under the influence of a malignant spell didn’t mean his suggested feelings were  _ real _ . Aziraphale was prone to flights of fancy and he’d always been a romantic. How many times had Crowley rolled his eyes while the angel waxed poetic about some novel or play or cute couple three tables down from them? And the possibility certainly remained that, despite what Aziraphale had said about being happier now than before his trial, the angel could be searching for some meaning in all of this and finding none, inventing something to suit.

And the more he considered that, the more probable it seemed. As cruel as it might seem to let Aziraphale believe his feelings were unrequited, it had to be better than foisting the inevitable discomfort of breaking Crowley’s heart when he finally learned his love was a mirage. 

“Thanks for the dinner, Angel,” he whispered. “It felt good to be seen like that and… you’re a good friend. I’m sorry for the way I treated you.”

Aziraphale’s eyes tightened a bit, a stifled wince. Crowley died a little. “Of course, dear. Can we do it again sometime?”

“Yeah,” Crowley nodded. “I’d like that.” The ugly truth of it was that he actually  _ would  _ like it very much. Despite knowing in his vile little heart he needed to protect himself, he  _ still  _ wanted the angel’s attention. He still wanted to sneak glances and see him smiling warmly at him. He still wanted the angel to care about his lack of happiness. He still wanted  _ him _ .

Suffering really  _ was  _ his jam.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Progress!
> 
> Your Kudos slip the restaurant's business card into the journal as a reminder of how much Aziraphale cares.  
> Your Comments send several tubs of Ice cream to A.Z. Fell & Co.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to Woo your demon: know when to step back and listen.  
> Crowley goes full disaster demon and comes to the stunning realization, (independently without any help from Luca or Aziraphale) that he might possibly be somewhat depressed.  
> Then he does what he's always done when he needs help. He turns to his angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up for some disaster demon.

The pervasive heavy dread followed Crowley on the drive home, whispering fears new and old. Everything was a mess. Everything was falling apart. He was going to lose Aziraphale. He was going to lose his mind. 

He sat in the Bentley even after he’d parked in his spot in Mayfair, listening to the tick and ping of the cooling engine, trying to summon the willpower and basic executive function to move from the car to his flat. Walking seemed a chore. Miracling himself up seemed even worse. The dread would follow him so what did it matter. Maybe he would just stay here. There was something safe about the Bentley. He tilted his head against the headrest and shut his eyes, trying to slow his racing mind.

A sudden knock on his window roused him with a startled shriek. Luca grinned at him and waved and Crowley scowled at the handsome demon, secretly pleased at the distraction from his dark thoughts. He left the safety of the Bentley.

“Thought I might pop by and say hello,” Luca smiled. 

“In the area, were you?” Crowley smirked, knowing the answer would be no. The incubus wanted a snack, and right now that sounded more than fine by Crowley. He led the way into the building and sure enough Luca trailed along after him.

“I wanted to make sure you were all right,” Luca was saying as Crowley pressed the button for the lift. “I haven’t heard from you in a couple days.”

The lift doors slid shut behind them and Crowley spun, slamming Luca against the wall causing the lift to bounce slightly as it began to rise toward the penthouse. Wide blue eyes stared at him in annoyance with just a tiny hint of fear. Crowley took Luca’s hand, sliding it over his clothed crotch.

“How fast do you think you could get me off,” Crowley purred, pressing in close to the other demon and licking a wet trail up his neck.

“I’m an incubus, Crowley. As fast as I’d like,” Luca answered, his voice wry.

“Think you could get it done before we hit the penthouse?” Crowley chuckled, rubbing himself with the incubus’ hand

“I think that’s a considerable waste of my talents,” Luca snorted, taking his hand back from Crowley and tucking it safely in his pocket. “Maybe you could use the time to tell me what’s wrong instead?”

“Ugh, you’re as bad as the angel,” Crowley growled. Luca looked about as insulted as Crowley expected him to. “I’m fine. I thought you and I had an agreement here.”

“Am I not allowed to talk to you?” Luca laughed. “C’mon Crowley. What’s going on?”

The lift gave a cheerful little ding and opened up into the flat. Crowley glared at Luca as he stepped off the lift. If the other demon wasn’t going to play along, fine. “Bah. Don’t need to be talked at tonight. If you’re not gonna put out then just sod off,” he hissed, flipping Luca off for good measure.

“Mmhmm, super not impressed with _that_ ,” Luca grumbled and disobediently followed Crowley into the flat. “I wish you’d stop whatever you’re doing with the principality, Crowley. It really seems to be doing a number on you. Why don’t we sit and—”

Crowley slammed the incubus against the wall again, even _less_ gently this time. The lesser demon wheezed as the wind was knocked out of his lungs and Crowley inwardly winced, backed off just a bit, wrestled a bit more control over his anger. 

“We don’t talk about Aziraphale, got it?” he hissed. “Now are you hungry or not?”

Luca frowned and glanced down at Crowley’s fists, balled up in the incubus’ leather jacket, before warily looking back at Crowley. “If I’m not, are you planning on _hurting_ me to _make_ me hungry?”

“You’re using me for food and security, Luca,” Crowley reminded him. “Don’t act like you’re hard done by.”

“Hardly,” Luca smirked, the taut heat flickering in his eyes rekindling Crowley’s desire. _Yes, now they were getting somewhere_ . “And you’re using _me_ for sex and a distraction from whatever is — I don’t know— _killing you?_ Seriously, you're not looking well, Crowley, and I’m worried about you.”

Crowley stared at the incubus, running his words over in his head. “You’re worried about me?” 

Luca gently took Crowley’s hands, plucking them from his jacket so he could press them between his own warm palms. The heat and arousal was still evident in the incubus’ gaze but he was looking at Crowley with something suspiciously close to kindness. “Luca. I think you’ve misread the nature of our relationship.”

“Yeah, I know. Food for sex. I get it,” Luca sighed. “Fine.”

“Well don’t look so bloody excited,” Crowley spat, feeling uncomfortable now. “If you don’t want to then sod off like I already bloody told you to!”

“Do you _want_ me to go?”

“I certainly didn’t call you,” Crowley responded coldly.

“No. But you didn’t turn me away either,” Luca pointed out. “I figured you might want company and you sure enough you tried to rub yourself off with my palm in the lift.”

“And you blew it,” Crowley growled. “I don’t want you anymore. Go scrounge for scraps in Soho.”

Luca flinched but he didn’t grovel. He had to give the incubus that. “I’m a competent hunter, Crowley. I don’t need _scraps_ ,” Luca snapped. “I’ve been around for over three hundred years! I can fend for myself just fine. I thought I was helping you.”

“Oooh! Three hundred years?” Crowley mocked. “Wooow! I’m so sorry to have disrespected your immense wealth of experience.”

“You’re being a real arsehole tonight, you know that?” Luca growled, for the first time showing his sharp lupine incisors. He’d never shown Crowley his teeth before (literally or figuratively). Just the usual perfect pearly whites in his unusually perfect mouth. This was a slip up, showing his less than perfect demon side. The great black wolf inside, capable of tearing a man to shreds.

It was adorable.

“You’re not seriously trying to threaten _me_ , Luca. Are you?” Crowley scoffed. Luca would need the element of surprise and a massive amount of luck in order to be a threat to Crowley, and right now the tosser had neither.

“Threaten!? For fuck’s sake, Crowley!” Luca snarled. “I came over because I knew that bloody angel was going to mess you up, _again,_ and I figured you wouldn’t want to be alone!”

“Well you were right about that much at least,” Crowley snarled back. “I didn’t want to be alone, but I sure as heaven don’t want to bare my wounds to _you_. I thought I made my position on your prying clear when I fried your fingers.”

“You gave me your word you wouldn’t do that again,” Luca sulked.

“Yeah,” Crowley nodded, crossing his arms. “Was still clear though, right?”

Luca made a frustrated noise, some soft sound between a whine and a growl, but he nodded and looked off to the side. Crowley smiled, having asserted his unquestionable dominance and feeling a bit more in control of _himself_ for it. Luca, however, just looked sad now and that was ruining the mood.

“Don’t look like that,” the serpent sighed, rolling his eyes. “Ffffucking puppy dog eyes, I swear to Satan, you’re completely ridiculous.”

“Fuck you,” Luca grumbled. “Puppy dog? You gonna insult me all night? Because I hit my limit quite a while ago.”

“Pfft, m'sorry, all right? C’mon. I’ll fix you a drink and we can watch a movie or something,” Crowley offered, waving the incubus further into his flat. Luca was clearly on the verge of leaving ( fair, since Crowley had just been trying to throw him out), but now that Crowley was thinking a little clearer, he really didn’t want the demon to leave. Especially like this. 

Everything felt like it was falling apart. His relationship with Aziraphale was suddenly weird and complicated, and even though he really couldn’t care less about the incubus, at least he was keeping him somewhat grounded. Having Luca around gave Crowley the background noise he needed to keep the voice in his head at bay. Having Luca was better than not having anything at all.

“I think I’m going to go,” Luca told him. “I’m not trying to pry, Crowley. I really thought maybe…” Luca trailed off, looking fucking heartbroken and Crowley started to feel himself getting angry again. “I’d only be distracting you from whatever it is you have to work out,” the incubus sighed with a shrug. “I’m not really helping you.”

“Of course you’re bloody not!” Crowley shouted. “What the fuck did you think this was? Did you think we were bloody _dating_? We had an arrangement, Luca. I chase off your competition so you can hunt Soho safely, and I give you access to a reliable food source and in return you keep your mouth shut unless I tell you to open it.”

“I told you before. I’m not a prostitute.”

“You agreed to those terms,” Crowley argued. 

“I agreed to a mutually beneficial arrangement,” Luca growled. “I didn’t agree to be your whore.”

“SsssSemantics,” Crowley sneered.

“This is seriously toxic behaviour, Crowley,” Luca snapped. “You need to sort your shit out, because if you treat your beloved angel like this, you’re going to deserve the smiting you get.”

Crowley felt the blood drain from his face. His pulse beat a pounding drumbeat in his ears.

“I’m sorry, wot was that?” Crowley asked quietly, teetering dangerously close to homicide. “Want to say that again?”

Luca didn’t. He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender and backed up a step before turning and stalking into the lift. Crowley glared at the incubus who glared sullenly at his own shoes. Those striking blue eyes glanced up as the doors closed, giving Crowley a quick glimpse of sadness, frustration, hurt… kindness. And then he was gone and the lift began its descent.

“Tsss,” Crowley hissed in the empty flat. “Ffffucking Christ. Wot is it with these bloody blue-eyed marshmallows sssuddenly catching fffeelings?!”

It _was_ a little comforting to know he wasn't the only being infected with such things. And in the light of that small comfort he could see that he _might_ have overreacted a few times today, but most recently with Luca.

"Ssstupid," Crowley muttered, snapping his fingers to halt, then reverse, the progress of the lift. " _'Toxic'_ , he says. 'Course. I'm bloody _venomous_ , aren't I?" Crowley grabbed the crystal whiskey decanter and poured a couple drinks. He was just finishing the second pour when the lift door slid open. He turned and gave a slight guilty laugh at the look of terror on Luca's face. He must've just about had a coronary when the lift started to go back up. Crowley held one of the glasses out in a silent offering.

"I'm not a toy, Crowley," Luca spat and Crowley arched his brow at that declaration. Hell had a colourful history, and minor hellspawn routinely got the short end of the stick. Various lords of Hell had _definitely_ kept incubi as toys and pets. Crowley wasn't any lord, but from Luca's standpoint he might as well be. Crowley experienced a sickening twist in his gut at how he'd abused this power dynamic, but he was a _demon_. He was supposed to be…

... what? Abusive? 

"I'm sorry," Crowley said. "You're not a toy, or a whore, or a parasite. You're right."

Luca looked suspicious but nodded an acceptance of Crowley's apology while warily pressing a button on the lift control pad. The door started to slide closed but upon realizing Crowley wasn't finished yet, changed its mind and opened again, freezing in place. Luca frowned and stepped out of the lift, keeping his back to the wall, and his distance from Crowley.

"I wanted you to remind me what it is to be a demon," Crowley told the incubus, setting Luca's drink down on the table and stepping away from it, in hopes of coaxing the other demon over.

"How could I possibly do that? I was never a proper demon _myself_ ," Luca scoffed. "I hit you how and when you told me, but I'm _not_ a demon, Crowley. Not in the way you want."

"You _did_ remind me, though," Crowley sighed, flopping onto his uncomfortable but ever so stylish sofa. The one in the bookshop was a thousand times uglier and perfectly comfortable. He'd worn Crowley-shaped divots into it over the last two centuries, claiming it as his own. "I remembered how to be a demon tonight."

Luca swallowed, and Crowley realized how that sounded and rushed to explain. "No no no, what I mean is that I _hate_ demons, Luca. I hate Hell and the constant bloody scramble for promotion that doesn't actually improve your standing. I hate the fear and violence and the… the abuse. I remember how to be a demon, and I remembered I don't want to _be one._ "

Luca watched him, confused. Crowley stared blankly into his glass. The thing he should tell him, the thing he _couldn't_ say, was that he admired Luca. Luca was young and competent and could be a real menace on the human population if he wanted to be, but he chose not to. And that choice didn't seem to bother Luca at all.

"This succubus trying to move on your turf…" Crowley began.

“Don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have asked you to get involved,” Luca said, waving his hand dismissively. “Soleil and I will fuck it out.”

Crowley snickered until he realized Luca was being serious. “Wait, is that a thing?”

“She’s got a couple centuries on me, but I think I stand a chance,” Luca shrugged. “Our kind aren’t fighters, I’m sure I can convince her to be reasonable if I offer Soho up to the winner.”

“You’ll leave Soho?” Crowley blinked. Luca had been in Soho for over a century, flying under the radar (Aziraphale was the radar in this case, which amused Crowley to no end.) and him leaving was going to be a problem. Different districts tended to collect their own demons. Mayfair had Crowley. Soho had Luca. Crowley’s influence was big enough to cover parts of Soho as well, given his frequent presence there but if things between him and Aziraphale continued to deteriorate then he might lose control of the district. He trusted Luca to manage it. He didn’t know anything about this Soleil.

“Does Soleil believe in sustainable farming practices like you do?” Crowley asked and Luca gave a loud, shockingly unattractive snort.

“Soleil believes in _feeding_ ,” Luca grumbled. “Why do you think she’s here? She came up from Normandy because she was attracting too much attention.”

“Doesn’t she know there’s a principality in Soho?” Crowley asked, confused. Aziraphale would take notice if the humans in his neighbourhood started getting sick and dying. It wouldn’t take the clever angel long to figure out what was happening, find the succubus and convince her in no uncertain terms to fuck off forever.

“She does,” Luca smiled a little at some private little joke. “She and I are not of like minds about the risk he poses. Soleil thinks the principality is retired, content to read his books and stay out of her way so long as she stays out of his. She hasn’t seen him interacting with the community. I almost wish I could see him smite her.”

This wouldn’t do. If Luca lost Soho, the humans under Aziraphale’s protection would suffer. Yes, Aziraphale would no doubt correct the matter swiftly, but not before a few of his precious neighbours got very sick or worse. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Crowley told him, trying to sound casual.

“Don’t do me any favours,” Luca muttered. “I can handle her myself.”

“I’m not doing it for you. I don’t want to live next to some unknown demon, is all,” Crowley tossed back his whiskey and stood. Luca tossed a quick glance at the emergency exit. “I’m not going to hurt you, Luca.”

“Okay,” Luca deadpanned, obviously not believing a word of it.

“I’m not,” Crowley promised. “I… I need to sort my shit out, like you said. I want to… renegotiate our agreement but I need to see someone first. Will you stay here?”

Luca looked very uncertain about that, and Crowley realized he must have been fitting the mold of every abusive waste-of-air human everywhere. Hurt your partner, apologize and reel them back in so you can hurt them again. Nope. Crowley might have been a sack of shit, but he didn’t want to be _that guy._

“Fine,” Luca sullenly agreed, stalking over to the glass of Scotch. “But can you pick up some take-away or something on your way back? I’m starving and you never keep any actual food in this crypt of yours.”

Crowley agreed with a troubled frown. Luca was hungry but he was opting for human food over sexual energy from Crowley? He knew the incubus was angry with him now, but he’d been refusing Crowley _all night_ . He cast a quick nervous glance at the mirror, to see if he’d suddenly gotten immensely uglier overnight and hadn’t noticed. He looked the same as he usually did, since his hasty hair-fixing miracle this afternoon. So it really _was_ that the stupid incubus was so worried about him that he’d rather go hungry than exploit a weakened food source. Shit. That was horrifically embarrassing.

Crowley joined Luca, sliding his glass out of his hand and putting it back on the table before gently backing the brunette against the concrete pillar behind him. “I promise I’ll be a better host from now on,” he purred, bunting Luca’s chin with his nose and sliding a hand along his waist under the leather jacket.

“I really hope you mean that this time,” Luca sighed, tilting his head to the side as Crowley began lightly nibbling his throat. Crowley kissed him, lightly at first, just a slight ghosting of lips, but as Luca opened for him, Crowley plunged forward, wrapping his arms around the other demon to press their bodies together hungrily. The kiss was molten and the serpent very nearly forgot about the rest of his plans for the evening, suddenly quite interested in being ravaged by the wolf.

He moaned, a mixture of arousal and regret as he pulled back to look at Luca. Luca’s pale blue eyes were lust-dark, pupils blown, tan cheeks flushed with desire. The fangs were back too and Crowley ran his forked tongues over his own sharpened teeth, eager to surrender to the feral heat between them…

But he needed to focus on the task at hand. Soho. He would see to it that Luca was fed full to bursting later, but first he needed to make things right with Aziraphale.

************

Aziraphale sighed, inhaling the fragrance of his little purple bouquet. It was small and simple, little more than a posey, really. He hoped it would be less dramatic, less intimidating than his last attempt at sending flowers. The angel had deliberated sending them at all, (and indeed still was, which is why he was still sighing over the blooms instead going about acquiring that Jane Eyre misprint he’d told the demon about earlier.

Despite Crowley's insistence to the contrary, Aziraphale was now quite sure his dearest friend was deeply depressed, and he was furious with himself for not seeing it earlier. More distressing still was the thought that Crowley may, indeed, have been depressed the entire time Aziraphale had known him. 

Aziraphale had seen the affliction in countless humans in his role as healer or guide over the years. He’d seen the various permutations of it, the soul-crushing sorrow, self-hatred, feelings of guilt or worthlessness. He’d seen too the withdrawal, the loss of interest in what they had previously enjoyed, the quieter, equally destructive signs. Sometimes Aziraphale was able to help them. Sometimes he wasn’t.

Crowley wasn’t a human though, and didn’t depend on human hormones and chemicals for his moods, so it was surprising that, yes, it certainly looked more and more like the demon was depressed. Was Crowley correct when he guessed he’d been created that way? Was being incapable of happiness part of some eternal punishment?

Aziraphale couldn’t believe that. That was similar to the sort of thing he had heard, and believed, about demons not being capable of love, and Crowley _loved_. He loved humanity, and the world. He loved fine wine and bebop and his Bentley. And he loved Aziraphale. There was no reason to assume Crowley couldn’t be happy someday. There was no cause to lose hope.

As for the flowers… to send them or not to… what was the right choice? He ran his fingers along the cluster of violet blooms of the tallest hyacinth ( _I’m sorry, please forgive me.)_ and the delicate lavender, ( _I admire you so, but I’ll leave you to your solitude_ ). Would Crowley understand, or would his depressed mind twist this gesture into something sinister? Oh, it would be better to just tell him in person, try again to clear the air, but he just didn’t know when, or if, the demon would like to see him again.

“Angel, I need to talk to you,” Crowley barked as he flung open the shop door. Aziraphale jumped, fumbling with the posey, and set it down on his counter as the demon locked the door behind him and flipped the sign to closed.

“Crowley, I didn’t expect to see you again today,” Aziraphale breathed, still recovering from the shock of the rude entrance. Once again his heart was beating wildly in his throat. “Is something wrong?”

“Yeah, I’m…” Crowley cut off again with a growl, swore at himself, and then stalked into the back room. Aziraphale followed after him quickly in time to watch the demon flop onto the sofa, running his long fingers over the threadbare patch in the upholstery. “Would you like some tea, dear?” Aziraphale asked, feeling nervous, and sad that he was now nervous around his friend.

“Yeah, Angel,” Crowley mumbled. “Tea sounds great.”

Aziraphale left the demon to his thoughts and prepared the tea the human way. He always found it tasted better this way, and it certainly took longer, giving the angel a chance to collect his own thoughts. He tried to think, to plan possible responses to whatever brought Crowley back after their disastrous date, but his mind was blank. He fussed about with the cream and sugar and those biscuits that had been neglected earlier in the week, feeling anxious about doing the wrong thing, but his mind couldn’t seem to be bothered to present him with anything remotely helpful. So, stewing in his own worry, Aziraphale decided to just keep quiet and serve the tea, and hope Crowley had come to a place where he could tell the angel what he needed from him.

“Thanks,” Crowley said, taking the offered cup of tea. “Sorry ‘bout barging in like that.”

“You’re always welcome here,” Aziraphale replied, feeling a little shy. “I hope you know that.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Crowley nodded. “S’good to be reminded though.”

“In that case, _you’re always welcome here, Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale sat down across from the demon with his own teacup and sipped as Crowley rolled his eyes. 

“Thanks… um…” Crowley stammered nervously, and Aziraphale glanced up, noting the pink flush under the dark glasses. “I was thinking about what you said earlier about… about me being depressed and… _Iwantedtoknowhowtofixit!_ ”

“I’m sorry?” Aziraphale blinked, parsing the last sentence with some bewilderment. “Fix it?”

 _‘I don’t need you to fix me_ ’ rang through the angel’s memory and he frowned, wondering what made his friend suddenly believe he was broken.

“Gnnn...feels like I’m losing my mind, Angel,” Crowley told him glumly. “Never used to sit still long enough for the doubts to pester me so much, I guess, but ever since we did what we did… I dunno what to do with myself. What even am I if I’m not some minion of Hell?”

“Why, you’re _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale told him. “You didn’t lose your identity just because you aren’t doing Hell’s bidding.”

“I don’t _feel_ like myself though,” Crowley argued. “Do you know how long it's been since I switched the push/pull signs on public doorways? It's been _months._ ”

Aziraphale was going to point out that Crowley had been asleep for months but figured he’d better not.

“And I’ve been taking it out on you, and on Luca,” Crowley sighed. “For someone’s sake, I actually considered killing him tonight! It was only for a second, but still…”

“Luca?” Aziraphale frowned. He wasn’t sure he’d heard Crowley mention anyone by that name before. Was _that_ the dark haired man he’d seen Crowley with the day of his ill-timed love confession?

“Hmm?” Crowley looked up, his eyebrows drawn forward in an expression of distress. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know who this _Luca_ is, but a momentary flash of anger isn't something to beat yourself up over,” Aziraphale pointed out. 

Crowley looked perplexed for a moment, as if he hadn’t realized what he’d said. Perhaps he hadn’t meant to mention this Luca to Aziraphale? That thought rubbed the angel the wrong way. He had certainly side-stepped the question when Aziraphale had asked about the man on the street. Was he hiding this gentleman? Why? Who was he and why did Crowley want to kill him?

“As for taking it out on me…” Aziraphale continued, trying to ignore his own raging curiosity, “I forgive you. Lord knows I’ve said some regrettable things in the past.”

“I don’t want your forgiveness,” Crowley snapped. “I want to stop feeling like this. Wot’s the bloody point in you forgiving me if this shit keeps happening? Wot if it gets worse? Wot if I _really_ ruin it? You’ve gone centuries without speaking to me before. Wot am I s’posed to do if that happens again?”

“Crowley!”Aziraphale surprised them both when he laughed gently. He put his tea down and joined his friend on the sofa. “I used to avoid you because I was afraid of what would happen if we were ever caught. I no longer have that fear. You have upset me, _angered_ me even, since our respective trials, and I’m still very much your friend.”

“I want to believe that, Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered. “S’not easy to trust, you know? Ever since you woke me up, I feel like I’ve had to get back to some kind of demonic basics, figure out who I am in this post- _Not_ pocolypse world.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Aziraphale told him, wishing he could reach for the demon’s hand, give it a squeeze for support. Crowley looked so frail at the moment, hunched over his knees with his fingers gripping his hair.

“Don’t wanna be a demon,” he muttered. “Don’t wanna be some abusive knob, pickin’ fights and tryin’ to scare the only people left in the world who might give a toss about me.”

“What _do_ you want?” Aziraphale asked gently. Crowley sighed and looked up at him miserably. Aziraphale swallowed nervously, understanding why the demon was still wearing his glasses, but very much wishing he could see the feeling in those deep amber eyes. “Tell me, dear,” Aziraphale begged. “Please tell me. I promise you if it is in my power to help you, I will.”

“Angel… I’ve only ever wanted one thing,” Crowley whispered and Aziraphale leaned closer to the demon, his fluttering heart screaming nervous excitement.

“Yes?” he whispered back, wondering if it would be too bold to reach up and remove those damned glasses. It was becoming increasingly untenable not being able to see Crowley’s eyes.

“I can’t risk it,” Crowley said finally, and it sounded almost like a whimper. The demon turned away again, buried his fingers back in his scarlet hair. “S’too big a loss if I’m wrong.”

_Damnit Crowley, No!_

“Maybe… Maybe if we talked it out we could… _minimize_ the risk somehow to...whatever it is you’re afraid to want.” Aziraphale bargained, wetting his lips nervously. He felt as though they were ever so close to a new beginning here. If only Crowley could trust him!

“S’gotta be a way to fix it,” the demon murmured. “You’re the cleverest person I know. I thought maybe you’d know how to make me feel like I used to.”

They were drifting away from what Aziraphale felt was the heart of the matter. Aziraphale frowned thoughtfully, trying to gently steer the conversation back to Crowley’s deeper desires.

“You said you weren’t happy before either,” he reminded his friend. “Given that, perhaps you should set your sights higher than simply feeling as you did before.”

Crowley glanced at him again with a nervous grimace and shook his head before looking down again. “Better to keep my expectations low, innit? Maybe work my way up to happiness in teeny tiny baby steps. Bad thingsss happen when I expect too much.”

Expect too much… Like asking for holy water, perhaps? Or for Aziraphale to join him in the stars? Bad things like losing contact for over a century, or Aziraphale being discorporated, leaving Crowley alone?

That wasn’t God’s doing though. That was just… bad decision making and poor communication. The oldest recipe for disaster there ever was, and the most pervasive.

“I hardly think you’ll be punished for simply being happy,” Aziraphale huffed in frustration. Crowley’s mouth twisted angrily and Aziraphale backed off again. “But if it is easier for you, than baby steps it shall be.”

Crowley’s face tilted towards him again, his features more relaxed, even as Aziraphale touched him to lightly pull him out of his rounded crouch so he could look at him fully. There was an openness to the demon that Aziraphale didn’t remember seeing before. Was it Crowley, or was Aziraphale’s naked yearning simply being reflected back at him from those dark glasses?

“What do you need from me, darling?” he asked gently, taking Crowley’s hands in his. A strange little tremor shook its way through the frail body beside him and then the demon was leaning into him. Aziraphale nearly gasped in surprised delight ( _a kiss!_ ) but Crowley dropped his head against the angel’s chest instead. Neither of them moved for a moment, until Aziraphale finally raised a shaky hand and timidly ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair. He expected to be rebuffed, but the demon sighed, relaxing slightly into the touch. 

Aziraphale bit his lip to keep from squealing in delight. It wasn’t a kiss, it was _better!_ It was affection for _comfort’s_ sake. Crowley was accepting affection from Aziraphale! He was relaxing into his touch, melting against his touch as Aziraphale’s fingers grew bolder, firmer, massaging the tension from the demon’s scalp. He was now half-way grateful that Crowley’s face was buried in his soft waistcoat so the demon wouldn’t see the dopey smile he was no doubt wearing now. 

He was fascinated by the silky feel of Crowley’s locks sliding through his fingers, the warm weight of him snuggled against his chest. It felt perfect. It felt right. He wondered, with a little uptick in his heartbeat, if Crowley might purr again. Oh that would be fantastic!

A few more minutes passed of this, and Aziraphale _did_ hear a soft sound drift up from the otherwise silent and seemingly boneless demon. A snore.

Aziraphale sighed. He had hoped to be able to offer his friend a little more than a warm velvet pillow to sleep on. “Baby steps,” he whispered to himself, and resumed softly stroking the flame bright hair as the sunlight faded from the shop.

********

Crowley woke abruptly with a startled snort, his semi-conscious reptilian brain telling him he hadn’t meant to fall asleep and that obviously meant danger. He flung himself upright, eyes wide in bleary alarm before his gaze settled on the angel, sitting directly beside him, wearing those ridiculous gold spectacles and holding a book. 

“Nrm?” Crowley asked, deeply unsettled.

“It’s all right, dear,” Aziraphale told him. “You fell asleep. It’s only been a few hours. Do you feel at all better for it?”

“Ng… hrk… yeh?” Crowley grunted, scrubbing his face with his hands, still not quite sure what happened. They’d been talking and then Crowley had felt all stupid and sappy and Aziraphale asked how he could help, Crowley felt so damn tired of fighting his heart. He’d almost kissed the angel! The embarrassment had been overwhelming, he’d turned it into some weird hug, desperate to hide his humiliation and Aziraphale had accepted his embrace, he’d gotten away with it and…

“Hours?” he blinked. “Sshit… I left— “ he cut himself off guiltily before he could finish saying Luca was all but trapped in his flat with a lift and emergency door that both under the impression Crowley wanted the incubus to stay put.

“Something wrong, dear?” Aziraphale asked, looking soft and lovely and warm.

“I have to go,” Crowley told him regretfully. “I wasn’t s’posed to fall asleep. I have somewhere I have to be.”

“Oh. of course,” Aziraphale stood, looking crestfallen and Crowley winced, realizing he’d used that line before.

“I mean, I _really_ have somewhere I have to be, Angel,” he tried to assure the fussy blonde as he heaved himself off the sofa. “S’Not ideal to fall asleep on someone and run, but …”

“Needs must, I suppose,” Aziraphale finished for him with false lightness. “Mind how you go, dear.”

“I’ll come by again soon,” Crowley told him, feeling awkward. “Goodnight Angel.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale blurted, stopping him with a gentle hand on his chest. Crowley froze, staring at the angel’s soft hand pressing into his shirt. Aziraphale stood and handed him his glasses. Crowley blinked. He hadn’t noticed they’d been removed. “I hope you don’t mind. They were digging in a bit,” Aziraphale murmured. Crowley blushed and quickly slipped the glasses on, flashing a grin that felt too wide. The angel smiled at him though, rose on his toes, and kissed Crowley lightly on the cheek.

“Ngk...wot…”

“Thank you for trusting me with your thoughts earlier,” Aziraphale said, blushing a bit as well. Crowley got the distinct feeling the angel hadn’t meant to do that. At least Crowley wasn’t the only one whose autopilot was drunk off its arse. 

“Yeah...Sss...s’good,” Crowley stammered, suddenly feeling much too hot. “I’ll… see you soon.”

The heat stayed with him as he did some spectacular low level flying in the Bentley, making it back to Mayfair in record time even for him. 

The heat continued to smolder in his chest and throat and cheeks as he stepped into the lift and punched the code for the penthouse.

The heat _was_ somewhat quenched with a wave of cold when he stepped into his flat and Luca was nowhere to be seen.

“Oi! Luca?” he called. He flicked his tongue against his lower lip slightly, tasting the air. Luca’s scent was stronger towards the bedroom though, mingled with the shampoo and soap. Crowley relaxed his shoulders, relieved, and padded down the hallway to the bedroom.

Luca was halfway dressed again after using Crowley’s shower, wearing his blue denim trousers and nothing else. Judging by the amount of steam pouring out the ensuite bath the incubus had likely used up all the hot water and then some (not that Crowley depended on such mundane things as water heaters).

Crowley leaned against the doorframe watching Luca hastily towel his hair and enjoying the way the incubus startled when he looked up and noticed Crowley standing there. 

“Shit!” His surprised gasp trailed into a dark growl. “Damnit, Crowley. What are you lurking for?”

“Old habits,” Crowley shrugged lightly as Luca sat on the edge of the bed to pull his socks and shoes on. 

“If you say so,” Luca grumbled. “Please tell me you brought back food.”

“Er,” Crowley blinked. Food. Right… “I did not.”

Luca made a low frustrated sound and stood, grabbing his t-shirt and jacket off the bed. “Ok well, let me go then please so I can get a hamburger or something,” he growled. “Will the lift bloody work now that you’re back?”

“Why would you settle for fast food though when you have a gourmet meal right here?” Crowley purred, trailing the back of his fingernails down his chest. Luca’s eyes darkened again, and that quiet low growl was back. He’d obviously pissed Luca off a _lot._ The growling was very new. Crowley had to admit he was into it.

“It disagrees with me after the fact,” Luca told him flatly. “Can we negotiate this agreement another time?”

Crowley removed his glasses and set them on the dresser and Luca frowned quizzically. Crowley tended to keep his glasses on for as long as possible when Luca was around (the length of time he managed it varied wildly). He leaned against the dresser, crossing his legs at the ankle as he removed his silver tie. 

“Crowley…” Luca began but he trailed off as Crowley began unfastening his waistcoat. The Serpent smiled knowingly, and Luca growled again sending a thrilling shiver up Crowley’s spine. See, he’d been in the temptation business for 6,000 years. He’d have to be a total idiot not to notice that Luca still hadn’t put his shirt on, despite his well deserved snark. Crowley definitely couldn’t miss the still-sharp teeth or the blown pupils. As for all the lust mingling with the faint leftover steam… that could have been from either of them honestly. Crowley had been hard since he’d come into the room.

“I know I’ve been bad,” Crowley smirked, shrugging off his jacket and waistcoat in one fluid movement. “But — “

“I’m not hitting you anymore,” Luca interrupted, crossing his arms. “Never felt good doing it and it tainted the energy anyway.”

“Eh…”Crowley paused, feeling somewhat derailed. “Yeah, ok. I really don’t care.”

Luca’s eyes narrowed and the shirt went on. Shit! What did he say wrong?

“What I was going to say,” Crowley rushed ahead with his temptation anyway. “Was that I’d like to make it up to you. I’ve been a temptation demon for 6 millennia. I know I could make you feel so good you’d not only forgive me, you’d forget you were even angry with me in the first place.”

Luca arched an eyebrow, a slight smirk curving his lips at what had to sound like a professional challenge.

“Are you going to use some demonic magic to _actually_ make me forget?” he asked. “Because that would be _cheating_ … Which seems on brand for you.”

“It is,” Crowley admitted. “But I wasn’t planning on cheating you out of _anything_ tonight.”

“I don’t know…” Luca responded, but Crowley could tell he was just being coy now. “I could get sex anywhere, and a nice juicy burger does sound good right now.”

That was just insulting. Crowley hissed, closing the distance between them in two steps. “First of all, fffuck the bloody burger—” 

“No, you _eat_ it, Crowley,” Luca grinned.

“-- Bastard. Secondly, I’m the Serpent of Eden, you idiot.”

“So?”

“So…” Crowley flicked his tongue out, licking around Luca’s ear. “No gag reflex for one…”

“Mmm… “Luca sighed, tilting his head so Crowley could devour more of that warm tan skin on his neck. “What’s a gag reflex?” the incubus asked, flashing a shit-eating grin. “I’m an incubus, Crowley. You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to impress me.”

“No refractory period… I could stay hard for you all night.” Crowley offered, dragging Luca’s t-shirt back over his head.

“Same,” Luca smiled. “But you know that too.”

“I do,” Crowley smirked. “But we always just topped you off, and went to sleep once I’d gotten off. Tonight, I want you to show me how _you_ like it.” That seemed to surprise Luca, putting him right where Crowley wanted him. He pulled his own shirt off next, teasing and slow. “Ever had another demon focus on you before? Ever have _anyone_ focus on you before?”

“No,” Luca whispered, trembling slightly. “That's not how it works for my kind." 

Crowley dropped his shirt and pulled Luca closer, sliding his hand behind Luca's neck as the other rested provocatively on his hip. "What do you want to do, Luca," he whispered, ghosting kisses against his shoulder. "What do you want me to do for you?"

"Are you sure you really want this, Crowley?" Luca asked. "You want me?"

"Fuck yes," Crowley groaned, grinding his clothed erection against Luca's. "I want you."

"Let me lead," Luca told him, stepping away from Crowley's needy touches. He hooked his fingers in Crowley's belt and tugged him towards the bed.

"Lead on," Crowley purred before Luca captured his mouth with his. _Finally!_ Crowley thought, melting immediately into the other demon's kiss. He'd never had to work for it with Luca before. _Figures he'd get all sensitive at the worst— oh! Oh!_ Crowley's grumpy thoughts dissolved as Luca peeled his jeans open, spun him around and pushed him onto the bed. He'd barely finished the soft bounce onto the mattress before Luca had knelt and taken him fully into his mouth, massaging Crowley's cockhead against the back of his throat.

"Ssshhit! Luca! Fuck!" Crowley gasped. "This— ah!AH! This is s'pose to be 'bout _you!"_

It wasn't strictly true, but it was harmless as lies went. Luca moaned, curling his tongue and pressing it against his frenulum as Crowley squirmed. Strong hands lifted skinny legs up over broad shoulders and Crowley tilted his hips, thrusting greedily into Luca's mouth. 

A slick finger circled his entrance and Crowley groaned loudly in encouragement. He could smell the minty fragrance of the lube Luca always had on him and admired the incubus’ preparedness as the slick digit slid inside.

Normally Crowley preferred the shock of two fingers at once followed by a slow stretch. This was too slow and careful for his liking but he agreed to let Luca lead so he tried to relax, biting back orders to hurry up and _fuck him already!_

"Hhhaaahh…" he gasped as he finally got another finger added to the first one. Luca lessened his suction as he began to work his fingers in and out. Crowley thrust up hard, unintentionally trying to chase the deep wet heat as it receded. Luca took it with a gentle groan before pressing Crowley's hips down against the bed.

"C'mon," Crowley groaned, forgetting his intention to let Luca lead. "Get up here."

Luca drew his lips up Crowley's cock, prodding the tip of his tongue against his slit before pressing soft kisses to Crowley's thighs. He seemed determined to take his time, every touch too slow and too gentle. It was new and sexy but also oddly calming and that was just weird.

"Mmmm… if you're not careful I'm just gonna fall asleep," Crowley sighed, surprised to find himself relaxing so much with two fingers deep inside him. 

"I'll stop if you fall asleep," Luca murmured, kissing up his belly while he worked a third finger inside the sweating demon. "But I like seeing you like this, relaxed and open. Just let me admire it a little longer."

Crowley shuddered on the bed as Luca's fingers curled, fingering his prostate in quick flickering movements. "Hhgnn!" Crowley bit his lip to keep from crying out. Luca noticed and slowed down again.

"I want to hear you," he moaned, finally crawling up Crowley's body, draping himself over him as he gently pulled Crowley's lip from between his teeth. 

"Jussst… I waaaa—" Crowley cut off with a boneless moan as Luca tucked his knees to the side, rotating Crowley's pelvis before sliding himself inside with one fluid thrust.

"Fff ah...oh… yes there," Crowley babbled before Luca kissed him again, twisting his tongue around a longer forked one. Luca's kiss was just as gentle and slow as his thrusts, taking Crowley apart by millimetres. Crowley moaned against his lips, gasping and begging for rough, for fast, for pain, for what he deserved. He didn't deserve this slow, delicious fuck. It felt good without the bad. It felt good. Oh sweet _FUCK_ it felt _gooood_! 

"Ah! Haaah...Ah...AH! I'm— _shit!_ I'm close, I'm…!"

"That's it, sweetheart," Luca whispered, kissing his ear. "Let it go."

"I'm going to…" Crowley groaned, feeling the orgasm build and desperately surprised he got there from something so bloody _wholesome_ . Nobody had ever fucked him like this. _Aziraphale would probably do it like this_ , he thought. 

"Shit! Oh, _fuck…_ oh! ah! Ah! AH!" The orgasm slammed into him, all the more fierce for the slow build. His nervous system lit up with pleasure, blanking out everything else. "AH! Angel! Angel! Fuck! AH! HAAaaahhahh…" his cries trailed off into a groan as he trembled and twitched through an aftershock.

Luca wasn't inside him when Crowley came back to his senses. He was sitting beside him, staring at the far wall, half hard. Crowley was still catching his breath, hips twisted and dripping with his own spend. He groaned as he pulled his knees up, pressed his hips against the mattress, expecting the wet pulse of fluid to leave his body but there was nothing.

"You didn't…" he turned towards Luca. "Why did you stop?"

"I'm not Aziraphale," Luca whispered after a long pause.

"Yeah, I noticed," Crowley sneered before he remembered he had thought about the angel just before he came and… "shit, did I…?"

"I knew you had feelings for him," Luca said. "I didn't realize you…" he trailed off, looking a little angry.

"I don't have…" Crowley began, "It doesn't matter wot… look, I'm never going to be… shit, Luca. C'mon!" Crowley could feel his own irritation flaring up, ruining a perfectly good afterglow. "This can't be the first time someone called someone else's name while having sex with you," he snapped.

Crowley wasn't sure what he expected the incubus to do in response to that. Flinch, or snarl, or hit him, or roll him over and fuck him until he screamed the right name…

Luca _left_. 

No yelling. No threats. No insults. He just got dressed and walked away leaving Crowley sitting alone in his own mess.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your kudos hail Luca a cab. 
> 
> Your comments look up the flower language to build a bouquet that says 'Stop isolating yourself from the people who care about you,' and 'words hurt! You know this!'. Promptly delivered to Mayfair.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley attempts to fix things with Luca but his efforts only draw Aziraphale's attention to the incubus. Aziraphale's attempt to follow the new demon has unforeseen consequences.

**Soho** **_,_ ** **1967**

It had been weeks since Aziraphale had given him the Holy water and a cryptic "you go too fast for me" that dripped with subtext and kept Crowley up at night scratching at it like an itch.

The itch had gotten so bad recently that Crowley had taken to stalking. Well, not  _ really _ stalking. Just parking the Bentley down the street from the bookshop and staring at it for hours. It seemed a fitting escalation from obsessing in his flat while staring at his safe.

He hadn't heard a peep from Aziraphale since that night. He'd just been left to turn it over in his head for weeks, vacillating between anxiety that he'd ruined everything and hope that maybe this gesture meant Aziraphale was going to start speaking to him again.

Or maybe he was just worried about what sort of mischief Crowley would have his team of ne’er-do-wells inflict on a church. He'd accused Crowley of contemplating using the water for suicide. Maybe he was suggesting Crowley finally get on with it?

No. That wouldn't be like Aziraphale. He wouldn't be that callous even with a demon.

It  _ did  _ mean something though, right? It had to mean something…

His brooding was rudely interrupted when a raven-haired man slid into his passenger side.

"Wrong car," Crowley grumbled, assuming it was a drunk human.

"Right car," a friendly voice replied. Crowley turned, very slowly, to glare at the man. It was a signature tough-guy move that had melted many an idiot's bowels in the past. He figured this prat would be screaming down the street before he fully turned his head.

"Sorry for the intrusion. I knocked on the window but you were too…  _ focused _ to notice," the man continued, seemingly not bothered in the least.

Crowley arched a brow at the man, realizing he wasn't dealing with a human. The man was dark and tanned, clean shaven with pale blue eyes. He wore a grey cotton button up shirt with a navy necktie and matching corduroy blazer. His blue denim trousers looked new but fit like a glove, not as tight as Crowley's but in a way that seemed effortlessly flattering. Everything about the man looked effortlessly flattering and it didn't take Crowley long to figure out why. The man may have dressed like he worked at a university but he was definitely a demon.

"You've made a mistake here, incubus," Crowley hissed. "Sod off."

"Luca," the incubus corrected by way of introducing himself before gesturing towards the bookshop. "Are you planning on killing the angel? He's a Principality, in case you didn't know. Doesn't  _ look _ it but he's probably a powerhouse."

Crowley felt a sudden surge of protective possessiveness and hissed angrily. "You leave the angel be!" The incubus finally flinched, the first indication he understood the danger he was in. The following side-eye he gave Crowley was worrisome though and Crowley hurried to cover for his outburst. "I've got plans for him so mind your own business."

"Soho is my business," the incubus retorted, earning another warning glare from Crowley. "This has been my hunting ground for the better part of 8 decades."

Crowley blinked in surprise but the incubus— Luca?— kept talking. "As for leaving the angel alone, that's not a problem. A principality is  _ way _ above my weight class." Luca shrugged with a little self deprecating smile that melted some of Crowley's ire. 

"You've hunted in Soho for 80 years?" he asked, still shocked by that. "Does Aziraphale know?"

"If the principality  _ knew _ , I suspect I'd have been smote into oblivion by now, don't you?" Luca snorted.

Crowley was fairly sure Aziraphale wasn't the  _ smite into oblivion _ type, but he would have found some way to rid Soho of the incubus, certainly.

"Still… I'm surprised you didn't get noticed by the local authority," he muttered, nodding his head in the direction of the shop.

"Hasn't been a problem so far. He's easy to avoid if I keep my eyes open. So long as the humans don't get sick, I doubt he'll ever know I'm here," Luca grinned, obviously proud of himself. Crowley was grudgingly impressed, and more than a bit curious how the hellion had pulled this off.

"Sort of goes without saying that you'd make humans sick, doesn't it?" Crowley snorted. 

"No offense taken," the incubus snorted back.

"Take all the offense you like," Crowley smirked. "Just know the angel's clever. He'll spot you eventually."

"I really don't think he will," Luca shrugged. "Not unless I really mess up and draw attention to myself but I've got a pretty good system going to keep the humans safe, and  _ me  _ by the extension." He pulled a little journal out of his satchel and briefly showed a list of names and dates. "Don't feed too much from any one human. They don't suffer anything worse than a poor night's sleep."

"Smart," Crowley admitted, impressed that a demon would be able to control their impulses this long. Crowley certainly was piss at it. Only kept the worst of himself at bay because of the angel's influence, really.

"I've seen this car around Soho a lot over the years, but to my knowledge you haven't staked a claim…" Luca began hesitantly.

"Don't need to. Based in Mayfair."

"That's a relief. Didn't fancy getting into it with you. Especially now that I've seen your aura. Suspect I wouldn't fare well at all." Luca laughed and Crowley eyed him askance. Odd duck. Civil tongue, charming, seemingly self-aware, gentle on the humans. S'like he was barely a demon. "Mayfair's good and close though. We should hit the clubs here sometime. Are you ever going to tell me your name?"

"Crowley," Crowley admitted. Luca smiled, then frowned quizzically. "Yeah.  _ That _ Crowley. Still want to 'hit the clubs'?"

"Fallen, eh? That explains the massive bloody aura then," Luca grinned. "And yeah, I'll give you my number and we can—"

"Look, if you want to suck my cock, just do it and fuck off," Crowley snapped. He really wasn't in the market for a clingy demon sidekick.

"I don't," Luca responded with a scowl.

Crowley was slightly affronted by that. "You're an incubus. That's basically your purpose in the world."

"I'll pass, thanks," Luca snorted.

"I'm the literal Serpent of Eden, you know. I'm not some lower tier imp. This is a high quality demonic effort here."

"I'm sure it's fine," Luca responded, rolling his eyes. Crowley swallowed a hiss.  _ Fine!? _ "I've eaten recently and I'm not after a feed."

"It's a fair bit better than fine!" Crowley grumbled.

Luca gave a disappointed sigh and shifted in his seat. "If it's  _ that _ important to you, we can shag, but really I was just curious what you were up to."

Crowley didn't care for how this conversation had turned to look like  _ he _ was the desperate one. Luca was the one who slid into his car!

"Respecting humans, deliberately trying to avoid hurting them, and now you're turning down sex?" he snorted. "You're a piss incubus, aren't you?"

"I prefer to consider it 'sustainable farming practices' rather than an act of kindness," Luca retorted, then pinned Crowley with a sexy smirk. "And I do all right."

"You're dressed like a bloody school teacher. How have you survived in Soho?" Crowley grumbled, annoyed at Luca's apparently deserved confidence.

"People respond to the studious, kind, gentlemanly type," Luca chirped brightly, but that infernal smirk was still there. "Don't they, Serpent?"

"No idea what you're on about. I've no interest in you at all," Crowley snapped, honestly annoyed by the demon's presumption.

Luca glanced at the shop and nodded once. "Message received. Not interested. I'll leave you to your angel-stalking."

Crowley felt a chill. What did that look mean? Did Luca know something about Crowley's arrangement with Aziraphale? Was he gathering information for another demon? 

Luca opened the car door and started to get out but Crowley grabbed his wrist to stop him.

"Wait," he growled. Luca glanced at where his wrist was firmly clasped with a look of utter confusion. If he was a spy, he was a pretty good one. Crowley could  _ almost  _ believe the man was just curious and politely territorial. He was still a demon though, so Crowley didn't buy the innocent act.

"Fine," he grumbled. "I know a place that makes decent coffee if you can try at decent conversation." 

Luca sat back down and smiled happily. Crowley eyed him suspiciously behind his glasses as he started the car.

  
  


**_Mayfair, Present_** **_Day_**

Crowley turned his face under the shower’s spray, rubbing the soap from into his skin as he tried once again to scrub himself free of the perpetual sense of grime. Memories kept swirling in the steam, popping up unbidden as Crowley tried to rid his nose and mouth of the incubus’ scent. 

Luca hadn’t ever been a true friend, but he had been genuine from the beginning which is more than Crowley could say about most people, demon or otherwise. The fool probably considered Crowley a friend, after all this time, or after one cup of coffee, or the twelfth furious shag. Who knew with that one. He was always so social, so quick to smile. Terrible excuse for a demon, really. 

The annoying bit was that Luca definitely had let himself believe he and Crowley were friends. He  _ worried _ about Crowley. He wanted to help. 

_ Idiot _ .

It should have been obvious to anyone with a lick of sense that Crowley wasn’t Luca’s friend. They may have seen a couple concerts together, and there had definitely been many shared orgasms in the last several decades but nothing profound or real. Crowley hadn’t bothered to warn Luca about Armageddon, even though it would have been nearly as bad for him as for the humans. And Crowley hadn’t apologized for that bit of neglect either because he didn’t bloody owe Luca anything. He still didn’t!

It was a mutually beneficial arrangement, that’s all. It had worked in their favour all this time and it would have continued to work if the stupid bugger hadn’t lost sight of the boundary markers and gone and developed  _ feelings _ . That wasn’t Crowley’s fault! If Luca wanted to go off and solve this territorial dispute on his own, then that was just fine with him. 

And if he lost Soho to this succubus, well… Crowley would have to make a much less mutually beneficial arrangement with her. A ‘hurt the humans and I hurt you’ sort of arrangement. No skin off Crowley’s nose. Might even be better, really. He didn’t like the way Luca had started sniffing around his issues with Aziraphale. Better to keep a distance from other demons, poor excuses though they may be. Crowley didn’t need the distraction.

What mattered, was Aziraphale. It had always been Aziraphale. It would always be Aziraphale. 

Which is probably why he called out for the angel while Luca was fucking him so well. “Ffffuck,” he cursed. That was going to bite him. It wasn't even that bad! Luca was making a big deal out of nothing. Aziraphale was just on his mind because of all the sudden love confession rubbish, and then Luca had to start acting all soft and gentle when Crowley  _ clearly _ wanted rough and hard.

If anything this was  _ their _ fault. Crowley had been perfectly clear about his intentions. Aziraphale and Luca were the ones being weird.

Crowley shut the water off and dried himself off, growling all the while. He'd have to track Luca down and talk it out, something he absolutely did  _ not _ want to do. He had to be sure this wouldn't get back to the angel, and that Luca didn't lose Soho to a dangerous succubus in the meantime.

Life was so much easier when he just didn't give a shit about anyone.

**********

There was no simple bouquet that could express Aziraphale’s concern and support for poor Crowley’s current predicament. It was a terrible mess and the sad fact was that it was likely to be a terrible mess for a while. 

Aziraphale was hardly an expert on mental or emotional health but he knew it wasn’t the sort of thing that one acquired easily or quickly. Unfortunately, Crowley seemed to be expecting some sort of immediate result, and that almost made Aziraphale more concerned than when the dear boy was in denial. 

He had seen the lengths Crowley would go to avoid difficult feelings in the past. The wild parties, the binges, the substances, or sex, or convoluted plots. And, of course, the long naps.

He expected that Crowley’s realizations the previous night were likely to drive him to seek out one or more of these distractions once again. In the past, Aziraphale would have turned a blind eye to it (or pretended to) but that was no longer an option now. No. Crowley was his friend Aziraphale would be damned if he let his friend suffer alone. 

Squaring his shoulders and girding himself for battle, the Guardian of the Eastern Gate rang his friend on the telephone. To his surprise, Crowley answered on the second ring.

“Yeh?”

“How are you feeling?” Aziraphale asked immediately, deciding there was little point in being cagey.

“Eh?” Crowley stalled, or was he distracted. “Bit off today, if I’m being honest.”

Aziraphale felt his heart begin to race and he smiled fondly, twirling the phone cord in his fingers. “Oh, I’d think that’s perfectly understandable, given the circumstances,” he said gently. “Would you… Would you like to come by the shop? We don’t have to talk about it if you’d rather not, but if you’d like some company…”

“Uh…” Crowley seemed to be distracted, and sure enough a moment later Aziraphale heard the slam of a car door. The demon was obviously on his way out. “Sure. That would be fine. I’ve got a matter I have to tend to first but I might swing by later on, if that’s all right?”

“More than!” Aziraphale exclaimed happily. This was going so much better than he had hoped.

“Don’t sound so excited, Angel. I’ll probably be a total drip the whole time,” Crowley cautioned. “Any chance you’ve got more of that tea I like?”

“Oh, I think I might have a tin left in the back of the cupboard,” Aziraphale smiled. Aziraphale had ordered several various blends of tea fifteen years ago or so, in hopes of finding a blend the demon would particularly enjoy. Crowley had seemed to prefer black tea to others so the angel had done some extensive research (and thoroughly enjoyed every sip of it) in his search for the perfect tea leaf for Crowley. He hadn’t let himself really consider why he was going through the bother, pleasant as it was. Crowley had been having a particularly tetchy decade, but Aziraphale wouldn’t admit he just wanted to see him smile. He had invited him to tea, plied him with cup after cup, inquiring about his thoughts on each. Aziraphale had been sure Crowley would go for the smoky Lapsang Souchong, but in the end it was the Keemun that Crowley enjoyed most. The demon said it reminded him of wine, and Aziraphale had secretly ordered five cases of keemun and squirreled them away in the cellar.

“See you later on then,” Crowley affirmed in the clipped tone of a demon wanting to get on with something else. Sure enough, the line went dead without so much as a ‘ciao’. Aziraphale wasn’t the least bit offended by the curt ring-off. He had tea to prepare for!

Fully understanding that Crowley’s difficulties would take time to move through, there was nothing at all to lose by making the demon as comfortable as possible during the process. So, he would bring up a tin of the keemun and assemble some nibbles that Crowley would actually enjoy. Remembering some of the favourites from their dinner date, Aziraphale settled on what he could recreate. The cheddar and black current jam combination, and the espresso and dark chocolate. He’d need to swing by a few shops. Maybe get a couple fresh pain au chocolat from the bakery on the way back. Crowley wasn’t as fond of them, but one never knew…

**********

Crowley miracled a place to park near Luca's loft on Archer St. and took a minute to collect himself, feeling angry and anxious all over again. He was just starting to talk himself into going home when he felt a rippling wave of demonic energy roll through the street. He hissed, instinctively bristling at the intrusion. It hadn't been Luca's magic, and the territorial nature of that display meant Soleil was likely making her move right now.

Crowley snarled and unleashed a wave of demonic magic of his own pushing back in the opposite direction. They wanted drama? He could dish that shite out by the pint. The wave he unleashed would have hit the other demon like a brick. Smirking to himself, he left the Bentley to see who he just concussed.

He found Luca in front of the shop below his flat with a petite blonde woman in a turtleneck sweater and denims that managed to look conservative and dead sexy at the same time. She and Luca were both holding their temples, looking slightly pained.

"Crowley," Luca growled as Crowley sauntered up to the couple. "What the fuck was that for?"

"I thought you could use some back up," Crowley grinned sharply, before turning his full attention on the succubus. "You must be Soleil."

Soleil brushed her golden hair out of deep brown eyes and pouted red lips at Crowley. Crowley tried very hard not to get an immediate erection. A lesser demon might have been fully under her charm. A human wouldn't stand a chance. Crowley narrowed his eyes under his glasses. He definitely didn't want her taking over Soho.

"Getting one of the Fallen into our business?" she smiled at Luca. "Not a good look, little wolf."

"He's not involved," Luca declared firmly. "This doesn't concern you, Crowley. Please go back to Mayfair."

Crowley snorted. Did Luca just tell him to leave Soho? "Nah. We need to talk.” 

"We really don't," Luca scowled. 

Crowley turned his cold smile back to the succubus. "Fuck off. I want to talk to the  _ Marchio  _ of Soho."

Luca rolled his eyes at the formal title. It may have been a bit over the top, (no one used titles anymore outside Hell) but the way it made the succubus scowl was well worth the inward cringe. Soleil huffed angrily and flashed a quick bit of a foreign sign language at Luca. Crowley didn't understand it at all but Luca's two fingered salute in return was quite clear. Soleil stalked off.

"What do you want, Crowley?" Luca demanded once the woman was out of sight. "It has been over two centuries since someone called me  _ Marchio _ . Are you calling a dispute?"

"Fuck no," Crowley snorted. "Soho is yours. I was just making that clear to the skinny bint."

"Soleil put forth her official challenge. That isn't going away just because you threw a psychic boulder at us. Which, by the way, fucking  _ hurt _ ."

"Nevermind her bloody challenge," Crowley drawled. "I told you I'd take care of it."

Luca sighed tiredly and shook his head. "I don't want your help," he grumbled.

"This because I said someone else's name during—"

"You should tell him how you feel," Luca growled, and Crowley felt his cheeks flare hot even as a chill ran across his back.

"Don't," he hissed. "Don't pretend you know how I feel. You haven't a bloody clue!"

"I know enough to get out of the middle," Luca snapped. "Tell him or don't. But I'm not going to be a stand in for the fucking principality."

"Aw, C'mon," Crowley groaned. "You're being dramatic. You weren't a stand in. I liked being with you."

Luca frowned, shifted his weight on his feet and Crowley knew he was coming around. Just needed a little more…

"Why don't you come on back to mine," he suggested, taking Luca lightly by the elbow. "We can talk it out. Come up with a new arrangement."

"No," Luca pulled away. "This is ridiculous, Crowley. I don't want a bleeding  _ arrangement _ . I wanted an actual meaningful relationship with you." Crowley hissed at that, but Luca was baring teeth now too. "I know you don't care about me like you do him. I get that. But we could've at least been friends."

"Fffriends," Crowley scoffed.  _ Now  _ who was being ridiculous?

"Yeah. Most mates can hang out without a bloody  _ contract, _ " Luca growled.

Crowley was seething now. "I was never your  _ friend _ , Luca. I was your dinner. That was the deal.”

"I’m sorry that you couldn't see past that,” Luca muttered. “Or maybe I’m sorry that I did. Eitherway, I’m not doing this anymore. It's a shit deal for both of us, frankly. It’s over.”

_ It's over, Crowley. _

Crowley felt himself begin to freeze up and physically shook himself out of it. That bloody bandstand incident had really done a number on him. Shit.

"Right. Fine. Best of luck finding a new territory after Soleil takes Soho, you stupid prat," he snarled. Luca growled back but Crowley was already storming off back to the Bentley. He never should have bothered trying to make things right. This is what he gets for sticking his neck out.

He should have trusted his instincts and just gone back to sleep. Oh well. No time like the present.

  
  


**********

Aziraphale was humming happily on his way back from the artisanal cheese shop when he felt the first tingling of demonic magic from up the street. He frowned, his fingers unconsciously twitching towards a missing flaming sword. He wasn’t used to feeling the work of a demon that wasn’t Crowley. 

Just then, he felt the second, much stronger pulse of demonic magic. That one  _ was  _ Crowley!

“Another matter to attend to, indeed,” Aziraphale grumbled, hurrying down the street towards where the disturbance seemed to emanate. Honestly, if the demon were in some sort of trouble why did he insist on keeping it from Aziraphale? He had hoped they had moved beyond this sort of thing.

He rounded the corner and slowed, seeing Crowley quite well, if somewhat agitated, arguing with the dark haired man he’d seen him with earlier.

That must be Luca. Why was this man suddenly in Crowley’s life? Was he connected to Crowley’s bout of depression? The man seemed angry, resentful even. Crowley reached out for him, and was pushed away. Aziraphale hung back, not wanting to overstep on his friend’s business, but neither could he walk away. Now that he was watching more closely, Aziraphale could sense the demonic nature of this dark haired stranger, and that first bit of demonic magic made more sense. Another demon was causing trouble for Crowley despite Hell’s tacit agreement to leave them alone. 

Crowley stormed off, leaving Luca to glare after him. A few moments later and Aziraphale heard the familiar engine of turn over and the angry growl of the Bentley as Crowley drove off. Knowing that his friend was safe, Aziraphale turned his attention to the other demon. 

“What are you up to?” he whispered as he watched Luca stalk off down the street. Aziraphale followed, being sure to keep his aura low. The demon never even looked back though, eyes cast down as he wove his way down the busy street before finally drifting into a music shop. Aziraphale had rarely visited this shop, but understood it to sell fine instruments. What was the demon doing there?

Aziraphale quietly wove a glamour around himself, wincing as his halo and holy aura dimmed and shrank deeper into his core. Human eyes slid off him, paying him no heed and the demon he was following hopefully would also. He stepped into the shop, listening.

“Luca!” a small rotund man grinned at the handsome demon. Aziraphale gave the new man a metaphysical once over and was relieved to see that he was human. “Here to play with the baby again?” the man asked. Aziraphale unconsciously shook his head.  _ Please don’t give this man a baby _ , he prayed. Luca crossed the shop towards a baby grand piano and Aziraphale felt himself deflate slightly in relief. 

“If that’s okay, Bill?” the demon smiled. His smile was perfect. Aziraphale felt a twinge of jealous resentment at that fact. 

So far, Luca didn’t seem to be acting particularly evil, but his presence in Soho, and in Crowley’s life in particular, was concerning so Aziraphale decided to stay and spy for a while longer. He had no intention of getting into an altercation with the demon but he willed the staff member to safety, just in case.

"Gonna check some inventory in the back," the man called over to Luca. "I assume you're still not going to actually buy anything."

"Just freeloading, yeah," Luca laughed. "Maybe one day."

Luca sat at the piano and gently brushed his fingertips along the keys almost in reverence. Aziraphale drifted closer, watching the demon carefully for any infernal magic. He was nearly squinting when Luca began to play. The song was hauntingly beautiful, sad and hopeful all at once. He played with passion and skill. He played the human way though, without even a hint of demonic magic.

Aziraphale was almost disappointed that there wasn't anything to thwart. Finding that the demon was a talented pianist as well as being ridiculously handsome didn't improve Aziraphale's mood, and he certainly didn't appreciate the realization that he had followed the man for apparently no reason other than his own jealousy.

"Shit," Luca swore under his breath and the music stopped. He had finally noticed the angel's presence and was looking up at Aziraphale with obvious trepidation.

"You play very well," Aziraphale offered, trying to stop himself from scowling and not quite managing it. 

"And this makes you… angry?" Luca asked. His voice was a rich tenor, estuary accent most likely. 

"I'm not angry," Aziraphale huffed, annoyed at himself for getting caught spying. Still, he was an angel speaking with an unfamiliar demon so best not appear too soft. "You would certainly know if I were angry. I assure you." Luca frowned nervously, his eyes flicking to the door and back. 

"Right, um. Are you looking for the proprietor?" Luca asked, feigning innocence better than Aziraphale was. He slid off the piano bench and casually backed away. It might well have looked natural to an onlooker, but Aziraphale recognized the movement for what it was. A retreat.

Aziraphale wasn't used to being viewed as a threat. He certainly didn't consider himself threatening. Crowley was always the intimidating one of the two of them. If Luca was worried, it was because he knew what Aziraphale was. If Crowley had told him that Aziraphale was an angel he must have mentioned that Aziraphale wasn't the smiting sort… unless Luca deserved to be smote that is. Was this anxiety from a guilty conscience? 

"I'm just a local musician so I can't actually help — " Luca began but Aziraphale cut him off at once.

"Local? How local?"

"I'm sorry," Luca asked.

"You have a London accent. Are you putting it on or have you been in the area long enough to acquire it?"

“I’m not causing any trouble,” Luca told him, taking another step back and raising his hands defensively. “We don’t have to do this.”

At least the pretense was over. Luca clearly knew exactly what Aziraphale was. “You’re a demon and you are in my neighbourhood and you’ve been lurking about my friend. I think we should at least  _ chat _ .” 

“Your friend?” Luca’s lip curled slightly at that. “If you mean, Crowley, you have nothing to worry about from me.”

“Ever so glad to hear it,” Aziraphale responded coldly. He was about to ask if  _ Crowley _ ought to be concerned when he noticed the fear in Luca’s eyes intensify and then a faintly coppery scent.

Aziraphale flinched, spinning on his heel to face Sandalphon. It may have been poor judgement to turn his back on an unknown demon but he found the prospect more comfortable than the alternative. Out of all the archangels Aziraphale distrusted, he liked Sandalphon the least.

“Friends with yet another demon, Aziraphale?” Sandalphon smiled greasily. Aziraphale repressed a shudder of disgust.

“Absolutely not,” he retorted icily. “This is a friend of _ Crowley’s _ , not mine. Not that this is any business of yours. What do you want?”

“Friend of the demon Crowley, you say?” Sandalphon grinned at Luca, showing his golden tooth. Luca shrank away, putting the piano between him and the angels as if that would help if Sandalphon decided to attack. Aziraphale almost felt badly for the demon. He was most certainly up to no good, but no one deserved to be leered at by Sandalphon.

“What are you doing here?” Aziraphale grumbled. “I was rather of the understanding that Heaven was meant to be leaving me alone from now on.”

“We’re not supposed to  _ hurt  _ you, if that’s what you mean,” Sandalphon snickered. “I’m still allowed to pop by and say hello. I felt the demonic magic in the area and wondered if your boyfriend with the glasses had finally decided to stab you in the back.”

“So sorry to disappoint you,” Aziraphale snapped. “Crowley’s done nothing of the sort, and as for  _ this  _ demon, I’m more than capable of handling him myself.”

“So I see,” Sandalphon laughed. Aziraphale frowned and turned back to Luca, but of course the dashed demon had run off, no doubt out the back of the shop.

“Regardless, I hardly need an archangel to—” Aziraphale began but now Sandalphon had vanished as well. “Blast,” Aziraphale swore. 

Feeling greatly unnerved by the archangel’s abrupt visitation, Aziraphale decided to forgo getting his pain au chocolat after all, and instead hurried back to his heavily warded bookshop directly.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your kudos send a strongly worded cease and desist letter to Soleil.   
> Your comments send one to Sandalphon too.
> 
> If you want to be kept somewhat up to date on what I’m doing or my current excuses for not updating, please feel free to follow me on  
> [my boring Twitter](https://twitter.com/TheaSutton4), or [my boring Tumblr](https://verdantvulpus.tumblr.com/)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale chases Crowley down to make sure he's safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra big thank you to [PinkPenguinParade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkPenguinParade/pseuds/PinkPenguinParade), who has been my beta for every chapter, but was particularly vital this week. She's amazing, and if you have kudos to spare, please send them her way.
> 
> CW: there is some strong language in this chapter, particularly some vulgar gendered insults aimed at the Almighty. You can probably guess from whom.
> 
> There is implied trolling of the SPN fandom. There is no disrespect intended. I know it's been a rough year.

Aziraphale had rather hoped he’d have heard from Crowley by now. He’d telephoned the demon straight away upon returning to the shop and got the blasted machine once again. So now, long after it would be considered fashionably late to show up for their planned afternoon tea, there was still no Crowley, nor clear sign that the demon had received his warning about Sandalphon’s odd visitation. It was maddening.

Muttering under his breath, he tried ringing Crowley again. Again, the infernal machine mocked him to  _ do it with style _ , whatever that meant. Aziraphale so loathed answerphones.

“Yes, it’s me. Again. I’m getting a bit worried, dear. You were supposed to come by this afternoon and I’ve yet to hear from you. I’d be content to leave you be if all you require is some space, but what with Sandalphon sniffing around for some unknown reason… I just really need to know that you’re all right.” He sighed when he heard the anxious whine in his own voice. He really did have a tendency to prattle on while leaving messages. “I’ve already said as much in my last message, didn’t I? …Bugger this. I’m coming over. If you get this message, do put on some trousers.”

He rang off and grabbed his coat. A cab was miraculously turning down the street in time for Aziraphale to hail it. There wouldn’t be any more lost time. Aziraphale instructed the driver to head to Mayfair with all due haste. Between Sandalphon’s appearance and Crowley's earlier exchange of demonic magic with Luca on the street, Aziraphale was more than ready to slip into full Guardian mode. He girded himself, hoping it was an overreaction. 

He hoped he’d find Crowley asleep in his flat, exercising his favourite avoidance technique. But Aziraphale  _ would _ ensure his safety, and after that, Aziraphale  _ would _ get some bloody answers! Who was Luca? What is he doing in Soho? And why was Crowley fighting a demon without telling Aziraphale he had a sodding demon to fight?!

It did hurt, to be left in the dark on something that had the potential to be quite dangerous to one of both of them. However, the need to protect outweighed the injury. It sparked against the hurt, flaming hot and holy under his skin and all at once Aziraphale was angry. Angry at these unspecified threats to their side.  _ Sandalphon, Luca, Crowley’s depression, his own past insensitivity and cowardice…  _

He wrapped himself in that fire as he boarded the lift and entered the code for the penthouse. He readied himself for battle, fully knowing the only one he was likely to have to fight at the moment was Crowley and Crowley’s petulance. It wasn’t an over-reaction to prepare. The venom in Crowley’s angry words could be staggering.

The door opened to reveal the quiet of Crowley’s flat. Aziraphale didn’t bother to call out his presence. He strode purposely to Crowley’s study and, finding it empty, proceeded to the bedroom. His heart was in his throat now, panic squeezing his ribs tightly. He listened at the bedroom door for a moment before pushing it open.

Crowley was sprawled on his belly across the bed, the black blankets twisted around one of his long legs. He seemed to have wriggled free of most of the sheets in his sleep. Aziraphale did a quick metaphysical once over to be sure that Crowley was indeed safe and sound and merely sleeping before he doubled over with a laboured wheeze of relief.

“Oh, I do work myself up at times,” he muttered to himself, feeling on the verge of tears. Crowley was safe. He was here, and he was safe.

He was safely asleep when he was meant to be having tea with Aziraphale. He hadn’t even seen fit to call…

Aziraphale straightened his spine and took a calming breath. Yes. He had seen for himself that Crowley was all right. Now he could proceed to other matters. 

“You callous, inconsiderate terror,” he growled, stepping into the dark bedroom. “Wake up, Crowley. I am extremely cross with you.”

Crowley muttered something and snuggled into the pillow clutched under his folded arms. Aziraphale was ready to start shouting when he heard it. 

Purring. 

“Oh, that really isn’t fair,” Aziraphale whispered in annoyance. The purring rumbled on as Crowley rubbed his nose against the pillow once more. Aziraphale tried to summon his hurt and anger once more, tried to wake the demon as rudely as he deserved after leaving Aziraphale to fret as he had, but each attempt was stymied by the rich, wonderful sound and the intense feelings of love and affection they instilled in the angel.

“You fiend,” Aziraphale pouted, giving up on his anger. Of course, now that he was no longer furious he had a different problem. He was in Crowley’s bedroom, where Crowley was asleep, and very much naked.

Aziraphale had seen Crowley naked before, of course, although not for several hundred years, and in those instances, the demon had been more than comfortable displaying his body in provocative poses, no doubt in hopes of making Aziraphale uncomfortable. A feat in which he succeeded more often than Aziraphale would like to admit, although not, perhaps, for the reasons Crowley assumed.

He had always found Crowley to be stunningly beautiful. The flame-bright hair, the warm honey eyes, the slender waist and pert round behind. And that walk of his… sinful to say the least. But there was something about this tableau, the pale expanse of skin against shining black silk, that stole Aziraphale’s very breath. 

He shouldn’t be staring. A line was once again being crossed. And yet, what a vision! The softness of the demon’s features in slumber. The relaxed sprawl of limbs, the curve of hip. And the purring… Aziraphale had never seen Crowley look so ravishing, and yet so vulnerable. The demon might have enjoyed being seen as the former, but certainly not the latter. Aziraphale shook himself out of his dazed stupor and quit the room, marching through the study (ignoring the desk and the secret journal- he will not read that again!) and into the plant room. He took up the plant mister and returned to the bedroom once more, smiling contentedly.

“Crowley. Do wake up dear,” he sang. The demon didn’t even twitch. “I’d certainly hate to surprise you,” Aziraphale chuckled softly as he took a position near the foot of the bed, dragging a blanket chastely across Crowley’s hips. “Very well,” the angel sighed. He adjusted the spray bottle before aiming it like a pistol. He let loose, grinning at the mischief as he repeatedly sprayed the demon. 

A dozen squirts later and Crowley had barely moved. His features had tightened slightly and the delightful purring had stopped, but otherwise the demon seemed content to sleep through his soaking. Aziraphale frowned, watching a bead of water slide over a freckled shoulder. 

“Really?” Aziraphale huffed. “Very well. Now this is simply a matter of curiosity, you realize,” he told Crowley as he strolled into the ensuite, summoning a bucket. A tepid spritzing yielded zero results, he’d have to experiment with a gallon of cold water. That seemed a perfectly sensible next step.

It definitely did the trick! Crowley bolted upright, swearing and spluttering after Aziraphale turned the bucket out over the demon’s head.

“What the fucking Heaven was that for?!” Crowley shouted angrily once he’d gotten over the shock enough to notice Aziraphale, still brandishing the bucket.

“Science!” Aziraphale replied brightly. “Now that you’re awake, please put some clothes on and join me in the sitting room. We need to talk.”

******

Crowley, dressed and dry, glared at the angel as he came into the sitting room. Aziraphale had apparently grown an overabundance of bloody nerve at some point today. He’d basically broken into Crowley’s flat and assaulted him in his sleep and now he was tidily perched on the sofa, looking as if  _ he  _ was the one who’d been wronged.

“Should I be warding the penthouse against angels?” Crowley growled, heading directly to the liquor table and pouring himself a drink. 

“Perhaps you should,” Aziraphale replied. “Sandalphon paid me a visit today and I suspect he is up to something.”

The crystal decanter slipped slightly in Crowley’s grip at the mention of the Archangel. Whiskey spilled over his wrist, soaking into his sleeve before he caught himself. He set the decanter down and immediately joined the angel on the sofa, giving over his full attention.

“Are you all right? Did that blighter touch you again?” Crowley growled. “I swear to Satan I will kill him.”

“I’m fine. He didn’t do anything but menace me this time,” Aziraphale assured him. “But he was rather interested in all the demonic energy you and your friend were discharging in Soho this afternoon.” There was a note of steel in Aziraphale’s voice then as he added, “I’m more than a little curious about that myself.”

_ Bollocks _ . Aziraphale had felt that? “Sorry ‘bout that,” he grimaced. “I didn’t think you’d—”

“No doubt,” Aziraphale chided. “I was out shopping nearby as it happened. I saw you arguing with the other demon. I assume that was Luca?”

_ Oh shit shit. _ Aziraphale had seen Luca?

“Uh… yeah, look. Luca’s small potatoes. Not worth worryin’ over,'' Crowley appealed to the angel. “‘Specially not after bloody Sandalphon’s showed up. Wot’s that blighter want?”

“He didn’t seem interested in telling me his plans,” Aziraphale huffed. “But he seemed curious if you were making a move against me. And he positively leered at Luca for being friends with you. So naturally when you never showed up for tea, and didn’t call to say you weren’t coming, I was somewhat concerned for your safety.”

_ Oh triple shit. _ He knew he’d forgotten something.

“Ah… fuck. Sorry, Angel,” he sighed. “Didn’t mean to make you worry. I was just more knackered than I thought I was and figured I’d take a quick kip and —”

Aziraphale watched him weave his excuses, his face adopting the polite neutrality it did when he knew Crowley was bullshitting him and was just too polite to call him on it. Crowley  _ had  _ to be exhausting to deal with. The demon sighed, sagging under the weight of the burden he must be. He paused, mid-sentence, and looked away. Aziraphale said nothing, and Crowley stewed. 

“I should have called. I forgot, honestly,” Crowley muttered. “S’not been a great day, but I sure didn’t expect an archangel to be sniffing around so I guess I should count myself lucky.”

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Aziraphale told him earnestly. “And I hope you’re careful. I don’t know what you’re up to with this demon you’re running around with. I suppose it’s none of my business, but it does worry me, Crowley.”

“S’Nothing I can’t handle, Angel,” Crowley assured. He forced himself to smile, hoping to ease some of the stress pulling at the corner of Aziraphale’s eyes. “Honestly. Just some incubus business I’ve stuck my nose in, but it really isn’t anything that could harm either of us. I swear.”

“I gathered Luca wasn’t much of a threat when I saw the sheer terror on his face when I cornered him in that music store,” Aziraphale mentioned dryly, and Crowley saw the hint of a smile grace those plush lips. He groaned.

“You didn’t,” he pleaded. “He’s really not causing any trouble, Angel, and he’s been doing a bang up job steering clear of you before I mucked it up for him.”

Aziraphale’s little smile vanished and he regarded Crowley suspiciously then. “How long has he been steering clear of me?”

“Er…” bloody fuck! What was wrong with him? How was he making such a hash of this? Aziraphale was staring at him, a tight little frown creasing his brow and even as Crowley’s brain was working to come up with a way out of this, his mouth was spewing out the truth. “Erm. 130 years, give or take…”

“And you knew?!” Aziraphale gasped. “There was a demon living in Soho under my very nose for 130 years and you didn’t bother to tell me?!” Aziraphale looked so betrayed and Crowley couldn’t stand it. He nearly collapsed on the angel in his haste to try to undo the damage he caused.

“I didn’t know!” he assured him. “I mean… I… I didn’t know the whole time,” he amended. “I didn’t sense him either. Didn’t have a clue until he came to me, and he was terrified of you and I figured- wot’s the harm?”

“What’s the harm?” Aziraphale echoed with an incredulous gasp. “An incubus preying on the humans in my neighbourhood and you couldn’t see the harm?”

“Preying is such a strong word, Angel,” Crowley sighed. “Luca’s an odd one. He’s no more a threat to the people of Soho than a loud night of drinking. If I thought he was actually hurting the humans I would have put a stop to it. You have to know that.”

Aziraphale’s features softened slightly at that. He no longer looked outraged. He looked sad and that felt so much worse. Crowley’s heartbeat was pounding in his temples and something akin to panic started clawing at his throat. He was acutely aware of how bad this was, and if he had even an ounce of sense he would have seen this coming a long time ago and prepared for it. But he didn’t have any sense. So here he was, sitting on his uncomfortable sofa with the love of his life, watching whatever trust he’d built burn. He should have been panicking. He should have been begging, or fabricating excuses, or turning on Luca… or some other desperately weak thing.

Instead he thought about his journal and took a breath as a strange calm settled over him. It was always going to be something. He would always fall short somehow. And if it was going to be this, then it would authentically be this so he could at least have less to flagellate himself over later.

“Here’s wot’s going on, Angel,” he heard himself say. Aziraphale looked back at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I met Luca a few weeks after you gave me the holy water…” he began. He told Aziraphale about Luca’s approach to feeding on humans. He told him about how he didn’t think it was worth mentioning at the time, since they were barely speaking, and it hardly seemed important after the antichrist had been born. He told him Luca was a friend, and they were in a bit of a row but he wasn’t a threat. Aziraphale listened without showing even a hint that he believed him.

So Crowley stopped talking. Getting into the nitty gritty of the territorial dispute felt like a can of worms best left closed. It was Luca’s business anyway, and Luca had been clear that Crowley was to get his fingers out of it. The last thing the incubus would want was Aziraphale getting involved instead.

“I don’t know what to say,” Crowley told the angel and meant it. “S’not like I meant to deceive you. We barely had the Arrangement at the time, and he’d have been mortified if I told you ‘bout him.”

“And if it came down to it and he did become a problem for me?” Aziraphale asked. “Would your loyalty still be so div— “

“If I thought Luca was even a remote threat to you I’d have torn his throat out in a heartbeat,” Crowley bleated. Aziraphale gasped and Crowley winced.  _ Too much. Pull it back. Pull it back. _

“I mean… I’d have put an end to his tenure in Soho for a start. Wouldn’t have risked a hair on your head, Angel. I swear to you. Even when you weren’t talking to me and I didn’t know if you were hoping I’d quaff that holy water and be done with it."

"I wouldn't ever want that!" Aziraphale shouted and Crowley winced again. Why couldn't he just shut his bloody trap?

"I know, Angel. I know that  _ now, _ anyway," Crowley tried to explain. "But in 1967 you just popped up out of the blue with a thermos full of the thing you swore you'd never give me a century earlier. I blew up our arrangement when I asked for it, and suddenly you were handing it over and part of me wondered…"

He shrugged. "Anyway. A lot has happened since then. Obviously things are different now. S'Not the point. The point is you don't have to worry ‘bout me. I knew what I was doing with Luca and that's over now anyway so the whole thing's moot."

"Over?"

"Yeh, blew that arrangement up too," Crowley shrugged again. "S'wot I do."

Aziraphale smiled sadly at him for a moment then let his breath blow out through his lips, patting his thighs a couple times. He seemed to have reached a decision about something and Crowley braced himself for the maiming.

“Are you still interested in help with your depression, dear boy?” Aziraphale asked him softly. It had to be the polar opposite of what Crowley had been expecting. All the defensiveness he was coiling around himself as armour fell away into thousands of glittering scales. Crowley blinked behind his dark glasses, breath caught in his chest, his cheeks feeling suddenly very warm.

“Uh… You still wanna help me?” he squeaked. He couldn’t imagine what else the angel could have meant by that but it seemed too much to hope. Aziraphale turned towards him a bit more and took Crowley’s clammy hands in his. 

“I will always help you, Crowley,” Aziraphale vowed. “I ought to have listened to you that day in 1862, but I was surprised and lashed out.” 

Crowley swallowed hard and nodded slowly. He understood getting surprised and lashing out. That was his general M.O. Didn’t even need to get surprised first, honestly.

“I promise you I’ll try to do better, dear,” Aziraphale told him, his blue eyes boring into Crowey’s as though the glasses didn’t do a damn thing. As though they were nothing but tinted glass. “I’ll help you however I can. Assuming you want my help, that is. I shouldn’t wish to presume.”

“I’d like that, yeh,” Crowley answered immediately. An echo of Luca’s  _ I don’t want your help, Crowley _ , still bounced around his skull, along with the bitter hurt that invoked… He’d be twice-damned if he tossed this peace offering away. “Want your help, Angel,” he said more firmly. “Could really use any help I can get right now, honestly. Been a bit of a mess lately.”

Azirphale’s whole face lit up in a massive grin, and Crowley felt himself lean closer to the golden warmth suddenly blooming between them. He wasn’t sure why that seemed to make the angel so happy but he didn’t care. He’d made Aziraphale happy. Aziraphale was smiling at him. He hadn’t blown this up yet. 

“Excellent,” Aziraphale cried, squeezing Crowley’s hands and Crowley blinked in surprise at the realization that they were still holding hands! “Now, I admit that I’m hardly an expert on this matter, and have no doubt that it is likely quite complex and complicated,” the angel went on, his happy smile still in place as Crowley basked in it. “I have no doubt that we can sort it out though, darling. Together. We’ll find that spark of mischief you’ve misplaced and… Oh, I may come to regret returning it to you, but we’ll have you back to yourself, causing all manner of mayhem. I swear it.”

Warmth spread through Crowley’s aching chest, and the air trapped in his lungs moved again. He drew his hands away, feeling pinpricks of sweat bead on his body and refusing to let his clammy hands get worse while encircled by Aziraphale’s soft fingers. He swallowed twice, trying to get his rebellious corporation under control. It had no right to shiver like that when it was feeling so bloody hot all of a sudden. What was next? Hives? Chronic sneezing? Was he allergic to hope? Because he knew that was what this warmth really was. Hope, bright and horrible. He was hopeful because looking at Aziraphale, sitting so calm and beautiful beside him he found he believed the angel. Suddenly all his problems seemed perfectly manageable. The fog of ennui lifted slightly, burned by the radiance of that smile. That beatific smile. Those plush lips and bright shining eyes. Those sweet soft curls. They were so close now. He could reach out, just a little bit, and touch…  _ No no no no don’t touch. _

Crowley snapped his fingers instead and a second later Aziraphale was settled across from him on the loveseat, holding a brand new note pad and pen. Crowley stretched across the sofa, arms folded behind his head, feet crossed at the ankles.

“Ok Angel, therapize me,” Crowley snickered. “Where shall I start? S’always with the parents right?” He cleared his throat dramatically. “Mum was an overbearing cunt whose punishments way outweighed the crime. Gonna be lots of issues stemming from Her, the unfeeling bitch.”

“Crowley, dont!” Aziraphale squealed, predictably offended. Crowley could feel them getting to safer ground and smirked.

“Pfffsh, doesn’t matter what I say,” he assured the pale angel. “ V’been calling her names for 6,000 years, I doubt she even notices.” He aimed a rude gesture upwards. “Ain’t that right you cum-gargling gutterslut!” he yelled at the ceiling.

Aziraphale leapt to his feet and pulled Crowley upright by the lapels. His toes dragged across the floor and Crowley blinked in surprise at how strong Aziraphale really was. The angel easily lifted him so they were face to face, noses touching. Crowley’s eyes had gone very wide and he hoped the dark lenses hid them when they were this close.

“Stop it, please,” Aziraphale whispered desperately "You have every right to be angry with Her. Furious even. I  _ know _ you do, but please, my dear. Please be patient with me."

Crowley arched his brow, confused. He was much too close to Aziraphale. It made his thoughts stutter, flowing slow and thick as treacle. "Wot've I got to be patient with  _ you _ for? S’God I’m talking ‘bout," he muttered, lamely pointing upwards for emphasis. “She's the cum-gargler, Angel. Not  _ you _ .”

“That’s vile, Crowley, and completely ridiculous,” Aziraphale huffed, his cute nose wrinkled in distaste. Crowley smiled a little, still a bit lovesick even as he was forced to lean, half-suspended from the angel’s grasp. “Who would even  _ do  _ that?” Aziraphale went on, making Crowley’s smile quirk dangerously close to a grin. “Everyone knows the civilized thing is to swallow.”

“Hrrk,” Crowley croaked, astounded. He stared at Aziraphale in complete confusion which transmuted into denial, confusion again, and then shock. Aziraphale was staring back at him with a look of annoyance waiting for some kind of response from Crowley, but the demon floundered, barely managing a shocked laugh.

“Angel…” he snickered. “Wot?”

“Regardless, I hope you know how much I wish I could better validate you,” Aziraphale continued, setting Crowley on his feet and smoothing out his lapels. Crowley watched the angel’s hands slide over his chest, his cheeks flaming hot at such a prim touch on the heels of  _ that! The Bastard! _

“You’re my priority, dear. You’re what matters most to me,” Aziraphale continued, and Crowley felt his flush somehow become worse. “Yet I’m still not comfortable hearing such vitriol aimed at the Almighty. I’m sorry. Please be patient with me.”

Crowley blinked. He tried to pull his mind out of the gutter. “Y...yeh, all right…” he stammered before taking a shaky breath. “Honestly, you blitzed the whole thing from my mind at the word ‘ _ swallow’ _ , you terror.”

The maddening angel rolled his eyes and returned to his seat with an indignant huff. “Honestly, Crowley. Don’t be prudish.”

“Wot? Prudish? Me?” Crowley gaped. “Fucking never! Just surprised is all. A bit impressed.” 

Truthfully, Crowley was more than a bit impressed. He was downright hot under the collar. He let himself collapse onto the sofa again to spare his suddenly weak knees.

********

"I'm sorry," Crowley laughed, spluttering into his coffee. "Can demons  _ wot?" _

Aziraphale bit his lip and slathered some butter on his toast. He'd been staying with Crowley in his flat for three days, loath to leave lest Sandalphon try something. At least, that was what he told the demon, and Crowley had surprised him by agreeing. 

It had been three days of watching terrible films on the telly, ordering take away, and drinking late into the night.

Three days of talking about everything and anything, sometimes even Crowley's depressive moods, although the demon was still fairly tight-lipped about it.

So this morning, Aziraphale decided to slake his curiosity about something else.

"Can you purr?" Aziraphale asked again, setting the butter knife down and innocently sipping his tea. Crowley licked at the corner of his mouth, chasing a drop of dark roast. Aziraphale's heart did a little skip at the sight of that pink tongue.

"No, Angel," Crowley scoffed. "Demons definitely don't bloody purr. We're the damned, not housecat."

"I realize that," Aziraphale sighed. "But are you quite sure? Only I've heard that some demons can."

_ I've heard you can. I've heard it personally and it was quite possibly the best sound I've ever experienced. _

"No purring, Aziraphale," Crowley snorted. "Think I would bloody know."

Aziraphale hummed, watching Crowley over through the swirl of steam from his tea. The demon was still chortling into his coffee, his eyes hidden behind those dashed glasses. He was smirking, but there wasn't any tension in the long line of his throat. His brow was smooth. So, this wasn't the false smirk, the aloof armour of condescension the demon wrapped himself in when he was uncomfortable. No, he was actually amused by Aziraphale's question!

_ Good Lord! He doesn't know! How can he not know?! _

Suddenly Crowley laughed loudly, his head thrown back in a peal of guffaws. Aziraphale nearly dropped his tea, startled as he was by the sudden explosion of delight across the breakfast table. 

"Jussst picturing Hastur… curled up on a lilypad  _ purring…" _ Crowley gasped between wheezes of near-manic laughter. Aziraphale smiled weakly. He couldn't picture it, personally. Perhaps he'd find it more amusing if this were a mere hypothetical for him as it apparently was for Crowley. As it wasn't, however, Aziraphale was stuck with an uncomfortable sadness that his dear demon hadn't ever heard his own sweet purr. He couldn't help but think that whatever safety or comfort or joy Crowley required to find that soft rumble had consistently eluded him unless he was asleep.

And it had apparently eluded him for over 6,000 years.

"Aw, C'mon, Angel. S'just having a laugh. Don't pout," Crowley jeered, tearing Aziraphale from his maudlin thoughts. "Out of all the weird made-up theories on demons I've heard, I think this is my favourite."

"I think maybe I shouldn't have said anything," Aziraphale sighed, feeling beyond discombobulated now. Telling Crowley that he'd heard him purring in his sleep was bound to go over poorly. Pretending to not know about it might cause a similar upset in the future should Crowley ever discover his purr. Of course, it was possible such a circumstance might not come to pass, in which case the sensible thing to do would be to stay schtum.

On the other hand, a not insignificant part of Aziraphale rather hoped to hear the purr again, and when he considered what methods he could employ on a willing Crowley to coax the sounds forth…

Oh bother. Now he was badly blushing. 

"Look at how red you are!" Crowley snickered, misinterpreting Aziraphale's flushed face. The demon slid from his chair and sauntered over, hips a-waggle, and leaned the dark line of his body over Aziraphale with a smirk that had no business being as alluring as it was.

"Do I need to distract you from your pout, Angel?" Crowley teased. 

"Don't you dare," Aziraphale scolded, knowing full well what the blasted fiend was about to do. The tip of Crowley's pink tongue slid out between his thin lips. "Don't!" Aziraphale whined as the tongue came out further. "No. No no no." he cringed in his seat, knowing he should flee, or struggle, or something other than sit here and let the demon  _ lick _ his cheek. Oh he hated it when Crowley did this. It had always disturbed Aziraphale for some reason, and thus delighted Crowley to no end.

Now that Aziraphale had begun to be honest with himself, he started to understand why Crowley flicking that hot tongue across his skin, even as a lark, might cause the angel some distress… and why Aziraphale never really fought it, curse his eternal cowardice!

"Blep," Crowley blepped cheerfully as the forked tip of his tongue poked Aziraphale's cheek, causing a hot zing of electricity to zip from Aziraphale’s own tongue down to his groin.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried, swatting at the bloody demon, rubbing furiously at the wet spot left on his cheek. “Honestly!”

Crowley cackled, picking up his coffee cup and taking it to the sofa. “So wot are we going to do today? Watch another terrible film? I’m getting bored.”

Aziraphale missed having something with which to occupy his time as well. All of his books and projects were still back at the shop. He sighed, swirling his tea and trying to think up something that might entertain them both.

“We can’t wait in here forever,” Crowley complained. “Only a matter of time before I go totally stir crazy, me. How long are we gonna hide from Sandalphon?”

“I don’t like the idea of hiding any more than you do, Crowley,” Aziraphale frowned. “My understanding is that Sandalphon is under orders not to harm me, but I doubt he is similarly barred from harming you. That said, he’s unlikely to try anything if he believes I’m living with you.”

“You’re moving in?!” Crowley squeaked, and Aziraphale flinched at the distress in his tone.

“For a couple weeks, if that’s all right? Just to keep up appearances, and help you ward your flat.” Crowley looked completely flabbergasted so Aziraphale continued to explain as quickly as he could. “I won't be any trouble, I assure you. I’ll continue to stay out here at night and …”

“I’m not worried ‘bout you being  _ troublesome, _ Angel,” Crowley grumbled, and Aziraphale knew he was rolling his eyes despite the glasses. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. Wos just surprised, that’s all.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale felt his cheeks warm again. “That’s kind of you, thank you.”

“Nuh. S’nothing. You’re keeping me safe, remember?” Crowley shrugged. “But we’re gonna have to risk a trip to your shop anyway and pick up your books and what not. No reason we should both be bored out of our skulls.”

Aziraphale was very glad to hear that. He had definitely been quite bored, and there was a restoration project he was quite eager to return to. He didn’t much care for the idea of Crowley being miserable during this period though.

“What would you normally be doing if there weren’t this threat looming over us?” he asked, hopeful they could salvage some of Crowley’s plans somehow.

Crowley was silent for a bit, obviously thinking. He frowned deeply. “Mnneeeeugh, I really dunno. Go for a drive, or pester you at the shop. S’not like I have much going on anymore. Bloody sad, really.”

“Perhaps, we could use this time to find a new scheme for you,” Aziraphale suggested. Crowley perked up at that.

“Really?  _ You _ want to help me make trouble?” Crowley laughed.

“I’m not sure why you’re so surprised,” Aziraphale sniffed. “I did a fine job on the temptations you sent me on as part of the arrangement. Some of them were even a bit fun.”

“Ok… so wot do you have in mind?” Crowley grinned. Aziraphale smiled back, enjoying the levity in his dear demon’s face. This would no doubt cause many Londoners a headache or two but he was quite happy to trade on a bit disquiet for Crowley’s smile.

  
  


*****

It had taken an hour or so of brainstorming, as well as setting up some silly boundaries that Aziraphale was determined that Crowley wasn’t to exceed but Crowley was starting to find himself getting excited about something again. 

He had brought his laptop to the sitting room and was hard at work creating twitter handles. So far he had created a number of online personas, and revived the ones he had let go dormant during his malaise. Under Aziraphale’s insistence he started weaving his webs again, quietly instigating a feud or two, insinuating himself into several fandoms and municipal political accounts. 

Aziraphale brought him some tea while he sniffed out the drama in a Supernatural discord server and fired off a few quick inflammatory comments. He picked up his tea and sipped it, grinning as the chat blew up. He sat back and watched for a while, chuckling a bit. 

Easy bait perhaps, but he felt he had to start somewhere and most of the social media stuff was beyond Aziraphale’s interests (or comprehension) so there was less of a chance that he could step on the angel’s good graces during this endeavour. It was too much fun having the angel with him on the side of chaos. The trouble-making looked real good on Aziraphale too. Crowley hadn’t missed the sparkle in those sea-coloured eyes as he explained his plot. It seemed like so long as Crowley was aiming his efforts at those who misused their anonymity to torment others then the angel was all game. Or maybe he was just willing to bend in his piety if it made Crowley smile…

Eitherway, it was making Aziraphale even more attractive, which —while currently the  _ only _ strike against the angel’s proposed living arrangements— was one Heaven of a big problem.

“You look to be having fun,” Aziraphale suggested, smiling fondly at him. “Is the mischief making you feel any better dear?”

“Loads better, Angel,” Crowley grinned. “Mischief might be my soul food.”

“I’m very glad to hear that” Aziraphale chuckled. The angel gave Crowley’s shoulder a friendly squeeze and Crowley managed to avoid spontaneous combustion by biting the inside of his cheek. “So long as I have your word you won’t leave the flat, I’ll just pop over to the shop to pick up some supplies.”

“Yep,” Crowley rasped, hating that he was forced to hide behind Aziraphale for the time being. “I’ll just be here stirring up trouble online. Promise.”

“Very well,” Aziraphale murmured and there was a pregnant pause where they continued to look at each other as if they both expected the other to say something more. Crowley arched his brow in confusion and Aziraphale smiled quickly, and turned away. The heat from his fingers ached as it faded from his bony shoulder. 

Crowley waited until he heard Aziraphale leave the flat and then let out a tremendous groan of frustration. 

“Shhhit, I want him,” he muttered, slamming the laptop closed and stomping to his study. “Shit shit shit shit shit, fucking Sandalphon,  _ Shit _ !”

And Aziraphale was going to be staying with him! For a couple weeks! Helping him cause trouble! Fuck!

“Shit!” he muttered again, slouching into his throne and pulling the journal out. He read it through over and over, each entry another sandbag against the rising flood outside his cracked and leaking walls. 

“Don’t let him in. Don’t do it. Don’t,” he growled at himself. “Demons don’t love. You  _ don’t  _ love him. It’s an obsession. It’s lusssst. You don’t let that base shit near him, and you don’t let him in. You’ve both hurt enough right?  _ Ffffuck _ I know  _ I _ have.”

But those eyes were so damn dewy and full of  _ love _ whenever he looked at Crowley these days. And every time they shared his sofa to watch the telly, Crowley ached to rest his head on those plush thighs (The perfect pillows!) and it only made it that much worse to think Aziraphale would  _ let him! _ That Aziraphale might  _ like him to _ .

But then the angel might be inclined to slide his soft warm fingers into Crowley’s hair, scratch those manicured fingernails lightly into his scalp. Blimey that would be awful, wouldn’t it? 

Crowley would have no choice but to hiss, look up Aziraphale with contempt, but the angel would see through him, of course he would! He’d smile down at him, all fluffy and fond, and Crowley would get caught staring at his plush lips, might lick his own, dry and chapped and unworthy.

And maybe Aziraphale would jostle him out of his funk, lifting him from his lap in those stronger-than-they-look arms. His blue eyes gone dark, sparking with heat. Maybe Crowley would feel those soft plush lips against his, smoothing the chapped skin with a warm slick tongue.

Shit. That would be just terrible. Crowley was aching in his jeans from how fucking horrible that would be.

“Oh shit,” he groaned, clutching the journal to his chest, his sharp teeth gritted in consternation. He needed more sandbags. Aziraphale’s flood just kept rising. This was going to be a very long two weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your kudos send a hug to a beleaguered SPN fan.  
> Your comments help carry the metric fuck-tonne of books Aziraphale is going to be carting up to the penthouse.
> 
> If you want to be kept somewhat up to date on what I’m doing or my current excuses for not updating, please feel free to follow me on  
> [my boring Twitter](https://twitter.com/TheaSutton4), or [my boring Tumblr](https://verdantvulpus.tumblr.com/)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is staying with Crowley in his flat for now, and has weird ideas about how to spend the time. Crowley tries to keep his feelings (especially the ones located between his hips) in check.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm looking forward to a time when my husband and I can get vaccinated. By then my parents and MIL will have been vaccinated as well and hopefully some semblance of normalcy will return. Having access to childcare was so important not only for me to have time to write, but also for my general mental health. 
> 
> My imposter syndrome and RSD have been hitting me hard lately and little things have sent me into a tailspin. I think I'm starting to come out the other side of it now but yikes.
> 
> Be kind to yourselves. This pandemic is hard in so many ways. If there is anything you can do to make yourself feel any better please do it. It's easy to talk ourselves out if self-care but it's crucial right now. Recharge yourself however you can, and hold on. There's better times (or at least more normal times) ahead.

Aziraphale hadn’t been the least bit concerned about the amount of books he brought with him until he saw the way Crowley’s eyebrows shot up when he stepped off the lift. He set the three large bags down, wincing at the heavy thud they made. It was just that all the concrete in here amplified the sound, that’s all. Crowley could do with some better flooring for a start.

“Is there a reason for all this exposed concrete, dear?” Aziraphale asked, trying to avoid the subject of his heavy luggage.

“Heh?” One of Crowley’s eyebrows shot back down, his patented expression of confused annoyance. “Wot’s wrong with my flat?”

“Nothing’s  _ wrong _ with it,” Aziraphale smiled to himself, content his distraction had worked. “I was just surprised by it, that’s all. It’s just so… stark, I suppose.”

“Go on then,” Crowley smirked. “Please, impress me with your ample knowledge of anterior design.”

Aziraphale chuckled. It wasn’t that he missed the barb in Crowley’s comment, but so many of Crowley’s comments were barbed. It was automatic. If Aziraphale were offended by every one they’d never have become friends. “I’m hardly an expert in that field. However, in the case of your flat the bar is so low I can’t see how I could possibly fail.”

“Oh ho!” Crowley retorted with mock affrontment. “If my flat displeases _ my liege _ so, he’s free to fuck off.”

“No, you’ve inspired me!” Aziraphale gushed. “I’ll begin a redesign immediately.” Aziraphale tucked his bags behind the sofa, and summoned a notebook and pen as well as his spectacles. He made a show of looking around the room as he slipped them on, then clicked his pen dramatically.

“This could be a quite productive use of our time, you know,” Aziraphale smiled, no longer joking. “You must admit that this space doesn’t seem very…  _ you.” _

Crowley shrugged, watching Aziraphale closely as the angel pretended to examine the grey walls and narrow halls. “S’clean, sharp, dark, and zero maintenance,” he argued. “S’perfectly me.”

“You consider yourself low maintenance?” Aziraphale asked sweetly.

“I consider myself extremely lazy,” Crowley replied. “so I can't be bothered with pretending this is anything other than shelter. M'not looking for a home."

Aziraphale frowned, completely taken aback. Crowley's expression didn't change in the least, as though he had no idea how horribly sad his comment was. 

"Regardless, this is where you are living," Aziraphale soldiered on, desperately trying to prevent himself from throwing his arms around the demon and cuddling the sadness away. "I don't see why you can't make it more…" he trailed off, less certain after Crowley's tragic comment.

"More to your taste?" Crowley snorted.

"More to  _ yours _ ," Aziraphale sighed. "Look at this place! The only bits of you here are in that study of yours. You even keep all your plants in one room, as though you were ashamed of having a hobby!"

"Wot would be more  _ me _ , Angel?" Crowley smirked. "Still waiting to be dazzled here."

"Heat," Aziraphale said at once. Crowley's eyebrows shot up again and his cheeks went a stunning shade of pink for some reason. Aziraphale cocked his own eyebrow at Crowley’s apparent surprise as he explained. “You’re always complaining about being cold and yet this flat is anything but warm.”

“Yeh… I suppose,” Crowley shrugged, clearing his throat. “Like I said, I don’t spend much time here. S’just a place to crash really.”

Aziraphale was beginning to feel like he’d have more success speaking to the concrete wall behind Crowley. He was clearly going to have to break this all down for the insufferable demon. Aziraphale cleared his own throat, took a calming breath and then crossed the floor to put his hands on Crowley’s slight shoulders. The demon immediately stiffened at his touch, a soft “ngk” punched from his lungs, but he seemed to be focusing on Aziraphale now.

“You are struggling with depression and a loss of identity, and you are surrounded with cold grey surfaces and uncomfortable furniture, and there is nothing here except some plants and some records to bring you any comfort,” Aziraphale explained. “If this were my flat, I wouldn’t want to stay here either. However this is something in your power to alter, if you wished to.”

“Why bother?” Crowley argued. He looked more confused than irritated though, and Aziraphale smiled and gave his shoulders a friendly squeeze.

“Because you deserve to have a space that is warm and comfortable,” he told the demon, and then, when Crowley looked ready to scoff he added “...and safe”. 

Crowley flinched, and Aziraphale felt another deep pang of sadness. He understood now how so much of what Crowley’s cool nonchalance was about walling himself off, protecting his poor battered heart. Maybe he preferred a cold, uncomfortable flat when he believed it dangerous to let his guard down. Maybe he had to live that way  _ before _ , but surely not anymore. “You deserve to be able to relax here, Crowley. Especially now that you’re no longer about to be handed assignments that pull you from London.”

“Pff… So wot, you figure get that bloke from Queer Eye in here to jazz up the joint, and all my troubles are over?” Crowley snorted, looking off to the side. Aziraphale had zero idea what any of that meant but he shrugged and nodded. 

“Your surroundings matter to your mental health,” he told Crowley. “And you have to agree that this is probably an easier place to start than whatever is going on inside here,” he added, gently placing his hand on the side of Crowley’s head. To his surprise, the demon gently pressed into his palm.

“Definitely less of a mess,” Crowley whispered before pulling away and strolling to the sofa. Aziraphale chewed his lip, trying not to blush as his hands fell back to his sides. “Fine. Whatever you want, Angel,” Crowley continued, his voice light and borderline dismissive. “But if you bring any tartan in here I’m burning the building down.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. He leaned against the wall Crowley had vacated trying not to think about how soft his hair had felt against his palm, or how right that simple warm pressure had felt resting there. “Perhaps we could begin by discussing flooring?”

******

Aziraphale was serious about it. Crowley would say he had been bulldozed into his study to go over home renovation options on his laptop, but it wasn’t like he had put up anything but a token protest, and the angel was well equipped to recognize and ignore those. Token protests were a major part of their game, after all. Centuries upon centuries of each giving the other the requisite token protest before they could move on. 

No, I couldn’t possibly join you for a drink. 

No, I wouldn’t be caught dead watching that boring play. 

No, I couldn’t possibly disobey heaven and thwart the End times. 

Token protests. So Crowley had rolled his eyes and made the expected disapproving noises as Aziraphale leaned over his shoulder to point to an option for heated subflooring.

Truthfully, heated subflooring sounded incredible and Crowley hadn’t actually known anything about it. And he couldn’t complain about the way Aziraphale kept moving closer to him, eagerly looking at the laptop screen. Everytime he got excited about something he’d lean closer, peering through those ridiculous spectacles. Crowley was in increasing danger of ending up with Aziraphale on his lap.

He placed an order for the heated subflooring and some dark grey stone tiles. He charged it to his card, trusting the amount of materials would be exactly what he needed. Aziraphale went over the top with his enthusiasm, praising Crowley as though he’d done some enormous feat of courage. Crowley had sunk low in his throne, half sprawled under his desk, wanting both to preen and flee from the unwarranted adulation. He couldn’t believe how ridiculous the angel was being, going on like that about a change in flooring. The only thing stupider was Crowley getting hard off it like a creep. Thankfully the heavy oak desk was big enough to hide behind.

Aziraphale then made some vague threats about ordering him some things on his own and stole Crowley's laptop away to the sitting room cackling gleefully. Crowley was too relieved that Aziraphale was leaving the room to argue about the unsanctioned shopping. He schooled his breath and when he was sure Aziraphale was occupied in the other room, Crowley took out his journal, flipping to a new page.

_I'm gonna have to work through some stuff here. Aziraphale is here in my flat for a couple weeks while we hide out from bloody Sandalphon and_ ** _he wants to redecorate! And I'm_** ** _letting_** **_him_** ** _!_**

_ He's in the mind to overhaul my life, which should be bothering me more than it is. I'm not sure why I'm not more annoyed. I should be. Fucking presumptuous of him, right? _

_ But I haven't exactly been comfortable here. Never bothered me much before but looks like London's gonna be my permanent residence for a while. The Angel says I should be comfortable. He says he wants me to be warm. I've got heated flooring coming now because he wants me to be warm.  _

_ Leave it to me to start thinking of other fun ways he could make me warm. Fuck, can't go there.  _

_ Heated floors. Luca would have approved. _

Crowley scratched his head, reading over what he had written. That was a loose end he should probably tie up. He took out his phone and texted the incubus.

**_Hey. Sorry I was such an arse._ **

**_Got shit to work through, like you said._ **

**_Anyway, I won't go poking in your business with Soleil._ **

**_Good luck though._ **

He sent the text and waited, his stomach sinking as the minutes ticked by with no response. He wasn't expecting a response but it certainly would have made him feel less like shite if he had gotten one. Then Crowley noticed the time and laughed at himself. It was Thursday night. Luca always had a gig on Thursdays. Maybe he'd answer Crowley later.

He shifted again, wishing he hadn't chosen Luca to distract him from thinking about Aziraphale. For one thing, it didn't work. Just as heated floors reminded him of Luca, the incubus reminded him of calling out Aziraphale's name during a disturbingly good orgasm and, yep, he was getting hard again.

Gritting his teeth, he hid the journal and quickly made his way to his ensuite bathroom. He suspected he was going to be having a lot of cold showers in the near future. So much for the angel's plan to make him feel warm.

******

_ So, it happened sooner than I anticipated. I jerked off in the shower while thinking about the angel. Not the first time, I know, but I've never done it before while the curly-haired git was in the other room ordering me a new chesterfield!  _

_ Look, in my defense, cold showers don't work for me. I tried and I hate it. I turned that hot water back on pretty much immediately. And that's when I remembered that Aziraphale had reapplied his cologne! He came back from the shop with three heavy duffle bags full of books (without breaking a sweat, like I needed to be reminded of how strong his bloody arms are right now!) and he'd freshened his cologne! _

_ And he offered to give me a shoulder rub yesterday. I tried to put him off, because the last thing I needed was his strong soft hands rubbing me, but bless me if I didn’t end up thinking about it for the rest of the day.  _

_ He’s clearly trying to give me space though. He’s reading in the other room right now, and he’s got some restoration project he works on at night when he’s not miracling flooring into place. He cooks and cleans the human way which is frustrating. It’s so inefficient and messy. He rolls up his sleeves while he washes the dishes. Like I’m not supposed to have an opinion on that? _

_ He’s still a git. He went off on me about cutting my scone incorrectly. Something I can honestly say I have never paid even the faintest bit of attention to before. At least now I know the “proper” way to do it so I can make sure never to accidentally do it. Much more fun to watch the angel flap about over quickbread. He can be so prim sometimes and it’s equal parts hilarious and obnoxious. At least he’s still acting like himself. Would be worse if he was on eggshells around me. Was worried about that. _

_ So it's good that we’re still bickering and teasing. And it's good that he’s pissing me off from time to time. It’s good if I can get him on the backfoot, red faced and his voice climbing the octaves until only dogs can hear his whinging. Because otherwise, he’s smiling at me with a crumb sticking to his lip and I want to lick it off. Or he’s laughing or wiggling or looking at me with soft kind eyes. Lovingly. That’s new, isn’t it? Is it? Did he do that before he confessed his ridiculous feelings that day in the shop?  _

_ I would have noticed, wouldn’t I? _

_ Ugh. Setting that landmine aside, let me get to the real crux of my current predicament. _

_The sofa is_ ** _red! Red!_** _With little cream throw pillows! And he installed the new flooring overnight while I was asleep! And_ _the worst part, the absolute atrocity of it all is it's all_ ** _comfortable!_** _I can't even keep up a quality snarl. The floor has just a touch of give to it so it's easier on the joints (such as they are) and the sofa is supportive and soft and the blanket is soft and incredibly nappable._

_ Yes, you heard me. Blanket. Like I didn't have enough blankets, now I have this horrible grey and cream check mircrofleece monstrosity to contend with and it's fucking damn perfect and I'm furious. I’m putting a stop to this today. I’ve got new flooring and a new sitting room set. That’s quite enough newness for me all at once.  _

_ And it’s only a matter of time before he’d smuggle some tartan in somewhere, the prat. _

Crowley yawned and wiggled his toes against the new floor under his desk. The stone was darker than the cement had been, much to Aziraphale’s barely hidden annoyance, but Crowley liked it. It looked elegant, and hopefully wouldn’t become dated anytime soon. And it did feel good under his feet. Damn it all. 

Another two days had passed and the renovations had, in fact, stopped. Crowley was starting to get used to the new furniture and there being actual food in his refrigerator. He scrolled through his phone, sowing discord online as Aziraphale read beside him. Sometimes Aziraphale read to him while he dozed under the stupid blanket. At night they’d watch movies, and Crowley would see how many pieces of popcorn he could lightly place in Aziraphale’s curls before the angel would notice and scold him. 

Crowley managed to keep his hands off the angel otherwise, sneaking off to the privacy of the shower when the impulse to reach out became too much. Really, he was doing a fairly passable job of acting normal and keeping his shit together. At least until Aziraphale started menacing his electronics. 

The demon was familiar with the paradoxical feeling of fond exasperation. He’d felt that often enough around the angel. But as he came into the sitting room to find the angel struggling with his stereo system and threatening to smite it, he discovered the less-familiar feeling of simultaneous annoyance and arousal. He could apparently add smite-kink to his already enormous list of things wrong with him.

"Do you mind, Angel?" he snarked, pulling Aziraphale away from the equipment before he broke something with his furious jabbing and twisting. "S'not bloody complicated, you know, but it  _ can _ break."

"It certainly seems  _ overly  _ complicated to  _ me _ ," Aziraphale huffed, glaring at the speakers now as though they'd personally spited them. "And it would serve it right if I broke it, the vexatious contraption.”

“What exactly are you hoping to accomplish?” Crowley grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose to communicate more aggravation than he actually felt. It was important (for reasons) to keep up appearances and he  _ was _ aggravated. He'd been doing a bang up job at keeping the angel at arm's length so far but this episode of attempted murder on his audio equipment had resulted in him pulling Aziraphale closer and that wasn't part of the plan! He quickly slithered back a safe distance, pretending to inspect the stereo for damage.

"I thought we could dance, should I have managed to coax this infernal machine to make music," Aziraphale muttered. His face was red and he looked to be on the verge of stamping his foot in frustration. It was adorable, which thankfully did away with the burgeoning erection but only increased his feelings of fondness.

"I heard once, from what I assumed was a  _ highly  _ reputable source, that angels don't dance," Crowley smirked. 

"A general rule," Aziraphale huffed, slowly coming out of his strop. "You know how I feel about  _ those _ ."

"Oh, I do," Crowley snorted. "You  _ generally _ adore rules. Angels are also obsequious, right? Another  _ general rule _ saying you follow the rules in general…"

"I would think I've abundantly demonstrated my willingness to break the rules in fact," Aziraphale argued. "And I learned to dance quite a long time ago, I'll have you know. Not that it matters now as I wouldn't want to dance with you even if that cursed machine of yours worked.”

“You wanted to dance with  _ me _ ?” Crowley squeaked, too surprised to be offended. 

Aziraphale snorted at him, snowy brow raised incredulously. “Who did you think I wanted to dance with? Your ficus?”

Crowley felt his cheeks flush again and floundered, searching for a snappy retort with no success. “I figured you just wanted to… dance? I dunno. Jussst….” he waved his hands in a vague gesture between Aziraphale and his record player he hoped communicated some solo dancing. Aziraphale blinked at him, his expression blank. His calmness only made Crowley feel more unhinged by comparison so the demon pulled himself together, ceasing his wild gesticulations by folding his arms across his chest.

“Anyway,” he gritted out, trying to match Aziraphale’s imperious pose. “I doubt the gavotte would work well with my record collection.”

“Well, no. We haven’t really the room for that either,” Aziraphale admitted, blushing. His sudden bit of nerves melted some of Crowley’s ire. “I was rather hoping that you might… teach me something new,” Aziraphale murmured, looking anywhere but at Crowley now. 

“Teach you…” Crowley gulped. “Teach you to dance…”

“Something other than the gavotte, obviously,” Aziraphale went on, still not looking Crowley in the eye. “There are so many other lovely styles of dancing, and many of them require a partner.”

“Right…” Crowley cleared his throat. “So, you’re not looking to learn club dancing or anything of that sort.” The thought of Aziraphale in some loud club, grinding up against some trashy bloke, it was laughable. He should laugh. Crowley tried to laugh, but his throat was suddenly much too dry.

“No, I don’t think I’d be comfortable,” Aziraphale agreed. “Perhaps a waltz or… or I’ve always thought Bolero looked quite lovely…”

“Slow dancing then,” Crowley nodded. Of course it was slow dancing. The chips all started falling into place. The cologne, the touching and teasing.  _ This! _

“Do you know how?” Aziraphale asked, finally looking up at him. “I shouldn’t assume, only I know you’ve attended a lot of balls and galas over the years so I thought —”

“Yeah, I’m familiar with the steps,” Crowley coughed. “I can teach you.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Aziraphale beamed, evidently forgetting that he was angry with Crowley. Not that Crowley could judge since he’d evidently forgotten that he was supposed to be keeping Aziraphale at arms’ length! 

_ Just put it off for another time. Say you’re not in the mood, _ the sane part of him warned. He recognized it as his sense of self-preservation. He really should listen to it.

But…

He was trying to wrap his head around the concept that Aziraphale was flirting with him. He’d mistakenly believed such things in the past only to find (with more crushing heartbreak than he’d care to admit) that the blasted angel was just being friendly/naïve/obtuse/any-combination-of -the-three. He’d learned to stop reading subtext into long dewy looks or breathy greetings. 

But that was before. Now they were both standing on the other side of Aziraphale’s stated intention to  _ “woo.” _ Here, on the other side, Aziraphale had become much more assertive, even with his so-called “stepping back.” While there had been no talk of “love” or “relationships,” Aziraphale was clearly still finding ways to communicate his deeper affections. Crowley had become the oblivious one, ignoring the signs out of sheer habit.

_ You’re setting yourself up for a nasty burn _ , his sensible self protested as Crowley selected a suitable record and flicked on his bluetooth turntable. He took a steadying breath and fixed his glasses. No. He could do this. It was just dancing. He wasn’t agreeing to anything else. 

Aziraphale could freshen his cologne and plot romantic woo-traps all he wanted. Crowley wasn’t going to hand his heart over to anyone. Least of all the frivolous and apparently capricious ethereal twat who’d been batting his heart around like a kitten with a ball of string for 6,000 bloody years! Suddenly the ethereal todger just  _ decides  _ he’s in love, and Crowley is supposed to come running to heel?  _ Tch. Pff. _ No bloody way! He’d sooner fucking— 

“Is something wrong, dear?”

Crowley blinked slowly, returning to the present. Aziraphale was at his side, a soft expression of concern wrinkling his brow. 

“Ng. Nah,” Crowley spluttered, fumbling the vinyl onto the record player gracelessly. “Just got distracted. Lots of memories with this album.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale, damn him, looked interested and Crowley winced when the angel glanced at the record cover. “‘Paramore’? Sounds saucy. No wonder you have memories.”

“S’just the band’s name, Aziraphale,” Crowley scowled, selecting the track. It shouldn’t be able to repeat the song on this medium, but it would regardless. “Don’t be weird. Give me your hand.”

Aziraphale had the terrible manners to blush prettily as he extended his hand for Crowley. Crowley felt ridiculous as he muttered out the basic steps for a waltz, keeping himself four inches away like that nosey chaperone at Warlock’s school dance was screaming at him to ‘leave room for Jesus’.

“Like this?” Aziraphale asked, squeezing his hand and shuffling a bit closer. It figures the bloody angel would be a quick study, even if they were dancing at half speed. Crowley nodded and led them up to the correct tempo. Aziraphale stumbled slightly and pitched forward and Crowley instinctively steadied him, dragging him back up on his feet, and Jesus was suddenly dangerously thin. Aziraphale flashed him an apologetic grin, even though it had been Crowley’s fault for not warning him. 

_ Whose side are you on?  _ his sensible brain complained.

Aziraphale found his footing and managed the simple steps, matching Crowley’s lead effortlessly in no time. Crowley led him in a slow, easy spin and Aziraphale giggled happily as he twirled gracefully and returned to the demon’s arms like it was where he belonged. He looked up at him with wide eyes, candid and warm. Crowley held him tighter, smiling despite himself and bless him, it was so easy to dance with— wait…

He’d chosen the song for it’s ¾ tempo and hadn’t given it much thought otherwise, despite his weak lie about ‘memories’. But now Hayley Williams’ voice was coming out of the speakers and she was suddenly saying far too much while Aziraphale was looking up at him like that.

_ Maybe I know somewhere deep in my soul _

_ That love never lasts _

_ And we've got to find other ways to make it alone _

_ Or keep a straight face _

And any in a few seconds she’d sing “ _ You are the only exception _ ” and Crowley would discorporate. He flicked a panicked glance at his turntable and the record obediently skipped. He winced at the scratching sound, but seized the excuse to fling himself away from the too-close-too-fast and pretend to rescue his record. Aziraphale waited politely while he switched the record to something else with a suitable tempo. It was romantic drivel, but the lyrics barely registered, as opposed to landing like a blow across the jaw.

*****

Aziraphale took Crowley's hand again, noting his skin seemed cooler now. There was a firmer set to his jaw and Aziraphale suspected he was biting the inside of his cheek. 

Everything had been going rather swimmingly, Aziraphale thought, and then something had alarmed Crowley. He might not have thought to consider the music if the demon hadn't drawn attention to it by changing the record. Was he overcome by the memories he mentioned earlier? Was it something to do with that other demon? Crowley had mentioned they'd been to concerts together, both sharing a fondness for bebop.

Aziraphale followed Crowley's lead in the dance, once again barely hearing the music. It had been better before, caught up in how well he and Crowley fit together. How easily he could set his cheek against Crowley's chest hearing the siren call of his heart beat.

Now he was distracted by base jealousy and more than a little annoyed at himself over it. Crowley had assured him it was over between him and the demon, and Aziraphale believed him. It shouldn't matter that he had a past. Aziraphale had a past! He'd had dalliances with various lovers over the years, many of whom had been very dear to him. It shouldn't rankle him so that Crowley had this connection.

After all, Aziraphale could  _ learn _ to appreciate bebop. In time. Perhaps.

Crowley's steps seemed stiff and he hadn't tried any more playful spins or steps since changing the record. Clearly the mood had shifted and Aziraphale fretted over why. Drat. He'd been having such a lovely time.

"Thank you for the lesson, dear," he murmured, hoping his tone belied the resentment bubbling in his chest. "I'm sure your feet are sore from me stepping on them so often. I'd love to resume the lesson at another time though, if you'd be amenable."

"Yeah, sounds good," Crowley agreed, immediately retreating to the sofa. Aziraphale watched him sprawl out and once again regretted his colour choice. He'd selected the red because it reminded him of Crowley, but everytime the demon sat on it, the fabric only muted his fame-bright hair. He should have gone with the olive one. That would have enhanced Crowley's beauty. 

_ That isn't the point of a chesterfield, Aziraphale, _ he scolded himself. Function and comfort first. Attractive style second. (Demon appreciation might be third but damn him, he couldn't manage to strike it from the list entirely.) Aziraphale snapped his fingers and turned the sofa olive. Crowley startled slightly at the ripple of angelic energy and arched a brow at the new colour before shrugging and settling down once more.

Aziraphale thought he saw a slight approving smile grace the demon's lips though. And the cream blanket and pillows still worked excellently against the neutral green. 

And Crowley looked good enough to eat.

Crowley disappeared into some game on his mobile, full of aggravating plinking and whirring sounds which the demon had intentionally turned up last time Aziraphale had complained. Aziraphale sighed and returned to his own new comfy chair (freshly turned olive to match the chesterfield) and picked up his book. Crowley played for a few minutes more before sighing and announcing he was going to take another shower.

Aziraphale shook his head in dismay as he watched Crowley's loose hips swing down the hallway. For all the demon sniped at him for doing things the human way Crowley certainly preferred the human methods of personal cleansing. He was even more fastidious about his hygiene than Aziraphale, sometimes showering twice a day.

On the other hand, Aziraphale did enjoy a good soak, himself. There was nothing better than submerging oneself in hot soapy water to ease away the aches of stress. Clearly Crowley found a similar relief in hot showers. He tended to be more relaxed afterwards. Shame the poor boy was finding this period of confinement so stressful though. Aziraphale nibbled his lip, thinking. He hadn’t done enough yet. He’d have to redouble his efforts to help Crowley relax.

The wine had had sufficient time to breathe by the time the demon finally sauntered back into the room, hair damp and smelling of his woodsy body wash. A stray curl stuck to his brow and Aziraphale’s heart clenched at the effort it took not to tuck it back into place, but he didn’t trust himself not to follow the gesture with a kiss. 

His gaze fell from the curl to the pair of soft thin lips. He remembered touching his fingertips to them when he’d inhabited Crowley’s corporation. It was the single indulgence he allowed his curiosity at the time and he’d marveled at how soft they were. He knew now that they were fuller than they looked too, how some of the thinness came from the way he twisted them into grimaces, smirks or scowls. He knew how they plumped out when the demon was at ease, pushing his breath across them in his sleep. He knew how they looked curling around the deep purr in his throat.

“My turn to pick the program tonight,” Crowley barked, grabbing the remote off the table and sprawling out on the chesterfield once again. 

“Yes, I believe it is,” Aziraphale croaked, before quickly clearing the desire from his voice with a vigorous clearing of this throat. “Though I beg you to choose something with fewer explosions this time, please.”

Crowley smirked and clicked on the telly, browsing through his streaming options with demonic alacrity. He quickly settled on one. “Very few explosions in this one, Angel,” he assured him. “You’ll like it. It’s funny.”

Aziraphale poured the wine and joined Crowley on the chesterfield. The show  _ did _ have its amusing moments, although its humour was rather...dark. This unfortunate young American woman kept dying over and over, always returning to the same moment in time after each improbable demise. It amused Crowley though, who’s laughter became louder with each glass of wine.

“Sort of like discorporation, innit?” Crowley asked between episodes. Aziraphale made a questioning sound, only half paying attention. “You know,” he waved his hands towards the telly. “She keeps dyin’ and comin’ back in the same body.”

“I suppose,” Aziraphale shrugged. “Though I don’t believe I can relate to the Sisyphean loop she’s trapped in.”

“Ah,” Crowley said, and for a moment Aziraphale thought he’d elaborate his thought, but the next episode began and Crowley abandoned the conversation again, draining and refilling his glass instead.

Aziraphale watched Crowley, allowing his gaze to linger longer as the demon went deeper into his cups and was less likely to notice. He knew Crowley was officially drunk when he finally took off his glasses and set them on the table beside him. Aziraphale eagerly anticipated this moment whenever they drank alone together. It was the only times Crowley let Aziraphale see his eyes, and it felt like such a tremendous honour and privilege. They really were ever so beautiful. Shame Crowely had to be three sheets to the wind in order to be comfortable enough to let go of his armour.

“Oh shit,” he snickered as the woman on the screen fell down the stairs. She’d go on to repeat this mishap a number of times in rapid succession. Crowley laughed so hard his eyes shone with unshed tears.

“I see you, you bombastically unlucky ginger,” Crowley sighed at the screen, raising his empty glass in toast.

“Have you ever been discorporated?” Aziraphale asked him. 

“Hm?” Crowley hummed, barely pulling his eyes from the screen. “Me? Uh… yeah, a few times, I ‘spose.”

_ A few times! _ Aziraphale tried to swallow his surprise. Clearly being a demon was substantially more dangerous than being an angel. He felt his chest tighten again and drained his own glass, hoping to chase away the thoughts of Crowley being hit by a speeding vehicle or falling off a bridge into icy water. It was a ridiculous thing to agonize over. Clearly Crowley was alive beside him and well enough to make morose toasts. Unfortunately now that the comparison had been made in his mind, he found Crowley’s chortling wholly inappropriate.

“Was it funny?” he glowered. Crowley hmmed again, watching the show. Aziraphale picked up the bottle of wine and that got his attention. Crowley offered his glass and Aziraphale repeated his question.

“Wos wot funny? Discorporating?” Crowley asked, looking confused. “Dunno. Maybe to someone watchin’. Could imagine a few demons who’d probably find it pretty funny.”

“I don’t like it,” Aziraphale spat. “I can’t imagine how you dying could ever be comical.”

Crowley scowled, stealing the bottle from Aziraphale’s hands. “Don’t imagine it then,” he quipped. “S’not a big deal, y’know. Bit of paperwork’s annoyin’ but then up you pop, off to do Satan’s will. Yada yada. You know how it isss.”

“I assure you I don’t,” Aziraphale huffed. 

“Nuh, You’d pop  _ down  _ to do  _ God’s _ will but still…”

“I was  _ nearly _ discorporated  _ once _ , and that was quite sufficient to convince me to take a little care,” Aziraphale grumbled. Crowley snorted, finally turning away from the telly to give Aziraphale all of his incredulous attention.

“You? Take care?” Crowley scoffed. “Only reason you weren’t discorporated  _ on the regular _ was because of my timely rescues! I can’t count how many times I had to swoop in to save your gorgeous arse from certain death and I know an awful lot of numbers!”

“I assure you I would have found a way out of those situations,” Aziraphale sniffed. He was lying, of course. Crowley had indeed saved him several times, and in most of those occasions Aziraphale had been uncomfortably close to discorporation. He hadn’t the foggiest notion why he was refuting it. Crowley  _ knew _ Aziraphale had been in grave danger. He wouldn’t have risked his own safety to rescue him otherwise! He ought to stop posturing and actually thank the demon.

“Did you just call me gorgeous?” he said instead, shocking them both. Crowley was halted mid-rant by that and flinched. Aziraphale winced as well. He’d been paying attention to how much Crowley had been drinking and lost track of how sozzled his own condition had become.

“Ngk… Gorgeous? No. Gor...Gromless. I said ‘ _ Gormless’ _ ,” Crowley stammered. Aziraphale felt his lips curl up into a grin that he hoped at least looked smug, but suspected only looked as delighted as he felt.

“You think I’m gorgeous?” he teased, poking Crowley in the ribs.

“I think… I think you… you’re fine,” Crowley spluttered, flushing beautifully. “Comely. Shaddup.”

“I think  _ you’re  _ lovely,” Aziraphale admitted in return. Only fair to return the compliment. 

“Ugh. Stop. M’not,” Crowley rolled his eyes. “All bones and pointy bits and freckles and too red…”

He was still going but Aziraphale’s inebriated brain had seized on a detail and couldn’t follow anything else.  _ Freckles?  _ He screwed up his face in concentration, trying to remember. It had been literal ages since he’d seen much of Crowley’s body that wasn’t covered up in black fabric. Finally his mind helpfully supplied him with a memory. 

He remembered Rome and Greece. He remembered the bathhouses, and bathing in the rivers. He remembered a pale, slender body with a smattering of freckles about the shoulders and arms. He remembered his fingers itching to trace the little dots along a sharp hip. Aziraphale swallowed hard, his eyes trailing over the long line of Crowley, shoulder to elbow to hip. 

“They’re beautiful,” he whispered.

Crowley lifted his golden eyes to regard Aziraphale warily. For a moment the demon looked so open and earnest, and the yearning Aziraphale saw mirrored back at him was breathtaking. 

**"** Every bit of you is beautiful, dear," Aziraphale told him, praying Crowley would hear him. Maybe it was the wine. He should have paid closer attention but drinking with Crowley had always been easy. He'd always found Crowley lovely, but this was the first time he very much wanted Crowley to know that fact.

Crowley's eyes tightened slightly but he turned fully towards Aziraphale now, rapt. Aziraphale took his hands, surprised by his own courage.

"Yer biassed," Crowley shrugged, and Aziraphale smiled. What had no doubt been intended as a deflection had exposed a new route to get his message across.

"If you believe I only see your abundant beauty because I am biased, that must mean you finally believe I love you," he declared victoriously.

"Ngk. Ng. I don't think that's…" Crowley was back peddling now. Bother. Perhaps having this conversation whilst drunk wasn't the best plan.

"Regardless, what does it matter why I find you beautiful?”Aziraphale interjected quickly. He leaned closer and lightly tugged Crowley’s hands to recapture the flustered demon’s attention. “It doesn't alter the fact that I do."

Crowley stilled, swallowing hard and staring at him with those warm honey eyes. "I almost believe..." he whispered, trailing off as his soft gaze dropped to Aziraphale’s lips. The air around them seemed to thicken, the moment dripping with import as they shifted closer until Aziraphale could nearly taste the wine on Crowley’s breath. He trembled with excitement, letting his own eyes drift closed at the first soft brush of lips.

Then Crowley pulled away, almost violently, his eyes wide and wild with fear. “Shit! M’Sorry!”

“It’s more than all right, Crowley,” Aziraphale soothed, but Crowley was already staggering to his feet, his face bright red as he slapped around the table for his glasses.

“We’re drunk and I shouldn’t… we shouldn’t....” he pushed his glasses on and raked his fingers through his hair. Aziraphale reached for him and couldn’t help flinching when Crowley turned away.

“I’m going to bed,” Crowley mumbled. Aziraphale tried desperately to think of something useful to say as the demon levered his long body upright. Perhaps if he  _ were _ sober he could have come up with something other than  _ ‘don’t go. I love you’ _ . Instead he watched, mute, as Crowley staggered his way down the hall, not even able to release his useless breath until he heard the bedroom door click closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waltzin' Song: "The Only Exception," by Paramore.
> 
> Hilariously dark television show: Russian Doll.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed our heroes’ bit of downtime. The plot is about to thicken. : I debated adding this warning because I don't like spoilers but I think it best I stick an actual warning in here. The story is about to take a sharp turn in a couple chapters and it might be wise to refamiliarize yourselves with the tags. I will continue to put content warnings in the notes and will make particularly nasty sections skippable, but I don't want to suddenly trigger anyone so please proceed with care. I love you all.) 
> 
> Your kudos remind Aziraphale to look up the song lyrics so he can say "oh!" And then "aww!"
> 
> Your comments subtlety encourage our dear demon to use his journal for purposes other than self-abuse.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The threat has passed. Aziraphale decides it is safe for him to return to Soho, prompting Crowley to make a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a couple days late? That's pretty good for me lately.

Crowley knew it was a dream but that knowledge didn't make it easier to see.

Aziraphale was shivering. The greenish cast to his pale skin gave the impression the shivering was due to shock more than cold. The angel was lying awkwardly on the stone floor, chained by the wrists and ankles. The thin shift around his hips (his only clothing) likely started off white but it was stained with sweat and blood. 

Crowley pressed against the invisible barrier preventing him from getting to the angel and it gave way in a sucking, viscous way, slowing his progress. The more he struggled, the further away he seemed to get.

“Aziraphale!” he shouted, slamming his fists against the soupy air. This was a dream. It _must be_ a dream. He’d wake up any minute, twisting in his sheets.

“Aziraph— 

“ — phmff!” he yelped awake, shaking in his cold sweat. The room was dark and quiet save for the rapid heartbeat pounding in his ears. Had he cried out in his sleep? Had Aziraphale heard him? That would be embarrassing and complicated to explain, yet he couldn’t help but hope for it all the same. He wanted to see him. Even if it was just a stupid dream, he wanted to see Aziraphale all the same. He took a steadying breath, and then another as he listened for the angel to come running. There was only the slowing drumming of his heart.

“Ugh, fine,” he groaned, heaving himself out of bed and summoning a loose pair of cotton pyjama bottoms on before stomping out of the bedroom to see for himself. He frowned at the stillness in the flat as he padded down the hallway. The sitting room was illuminated by a single lamp near Aziraphale’s empty reading chair. Fear solidified as a sharp lump in his throat as he entered the room. A note was waiting for him in the pool of light on the side table. He picked it up with trembling fingers.

_My Dear Crowley,_

_I’m leaving this note in the unlikely eventuality that you might wake up before I return. I’ve decided to stretch my legs and take a nighttime stroll in Soho. At this early hour the streets will be as empty as they ever are and I hope to sense how much, if any, of Sandalphon’s presence still lingers. I suspect he has gotten bored and returned to Heaven by now, but it is wise to make sure. I promise to keep myself safe of any human riff raff as well. I do know how you worry._

_I’ll be back soon._

_Fondest regards,_

_Aziraphale._

“Pfft. Worry,” Crowley snorted, crumpling the note. “Wanker.” He wouldn’t have been worried if it weren’t for that dream. It just set off some nerves, that’s all. 

Still…

He knew he wasn’t likely to be able to sleep again until the angel got back so he started the coffee maker with a glance and dragged himself back to his room to get dressed. Later, armed with a fortifying coffee, he stole through the darkness to his study and pulled out his journal. He might as well use this time to get his thoughts in order before Aziraphale came back.

_Aziraphale is out stalking the streets like a lunatic hunting for signs of the archangel. If he doesn’t find anything will he decide to go back to Soho? He’s only here because safety in numbers and all that._

Crowley sighed, rolling his eyes at himself and scratched out the last sentence. 

_He’s only here to protect me. If the threat is gone then he’s gonna want to go back to the shop. That only makes sense. It would be weird for him not to._

Crowley tapped his pen against his teeth, his leg bouncing under his desk. Part of him was happy to have his flat back. To not have to worry about offending the fussy angel with his taste in music, the way he cut his scones or, you know, the spontaneous erections he’d been hiding. This should be a relief. It wasn’t. So that was the first thing he had to sort out. He returned his pen to paper, trying to keep things as simple as possible.

_Why don’t you want him to go?_

Simple question. Should have a simple answer right?

_Been fun having him here. Easier than having to find parking in Soho anyway._

_Is that really why though?_

_Yeah. Mostly. I mean, It’s been hard having him here too. Especially because it’s been HARD having him here. Be good not to have to worry about that anymore._

_Oh? You’re not going to find him attractive anymore once he’s in the shop?_

Crowley bit the inside of his cheek while he glared at the journal. It had a point.

_At least then I can leave if I have to. Doesn’t matter anyway. He’s gonna go back eventually. Doesn’t matter how I feel about it._

_Why not? Hasn’t he been very interested in how you feel about things?_

_Because he thinks I’m cracking up! Because he thinks I’m a mental case!_

_Or?_

_It’s not this business of him loving me. We’re not doing that._

_Okay._

Crowley growled at the journal and snapped it shut, storming out of the study to viciously spritz his plants. Remembering that he left his coffee on his desk, he went back in and sipped it, still glaring at the closed journal. Smug thing. Deciding he wasn’t done yelling at it, he sat back down and opened it again, scribbling angrily.

_We’ve been over this dozens of times now. Pretty much the entire contents of your damn pages are full of the reasons why this is a bloody bad idea!_

_That was before. That was when you believed he didn’t love you._

_What if he does? What if you love each other?_

_What if you love each other and you let this opportunity slip by because you’re a coward?_

_What if you miss your chance?_

_Why does he get infinite chances and I only get the one?!_

_Seems right. Why would a demon even get one?_

_And yet here it is and you’re not taking it._

“Fuck!” Crowley snarled, hurling his coffee cup across the room where it shattered into an artful arrangement of coffee, porcelain, and catharsis.

“Crowley?!” Aziraphale’s worried voice called from down the hall. Crowley startled at the voice and quickly hid the journal under his leg and miracled his cup back to rights just in time for the angel to come hurrying into the study.

“Oh, hey, Angel,” he drawled. “I didn’t hear you get back. How was Soho?”

“Uneventful for a change. What happened to you? Are you all right?” Aziraphale looked skeptically over his desk.

"Broke my mug, but I fixed it," Crowley replied, expertly playing the game of Lie To Aziraphale Without Actually Lying To Aziraphale. He was the reigning champion. "Any sign of Sandy?"

"No," Aziraphale smiled. He looked relieved and Crowley swallowed around the jagged lump that reappeared in his throat. "As I suspected he must have only popped down to menace and didn't bother to stay around. After all, he might have been in real danger of _learning_ something if he stayed on earth too long."

"Angel," Crowley purred, enjoying the smarmy smirk on the angel's face. "So bitter. I'm proud."

"Oh stop," Aziraphale blushed. "In any case, I'd imagine you'd like to be rid of me. I'll pack up my books and be on my way if you wouldn't mind calling me a taxi?"

"No rush," Crowley said quickly. "Let's get breakfast first."

"That sounds lovely," Aziraphale responded, grinning widely. 

"Right. Lemme just finish something up here and I'll be out in ten minutes," Crowley pulled his laptop closer to him to suggest he was working on something. Aziraphale's grin slipped slightly but he nodded and left and Crowley endeavoured not to read anything into the facial expression. He brought the journal out again, rereading the last line.

_You're not taking it_.

_What if it's a mistake?_

_What if I take the chance but it doesn't work?_

_What then, genius?_

_Then you'll know._

_Then you'll stop wondering._

_Then you can finally let go of hope._

_At least there wouldn't be regret._

"Shit," he grumbled, closing the journal again and hiding it properly. "Shit shit shit," he repeated as he stormed out of the study. "Shiiiit," he hissed down the hall.

"Are you sure you're all right, my boy?" Aziraphale asked, bemused. "Only there's a touch more profanity than usual this morning."

"Dammit, Aziraphale! No, I'm not bloody all right!" Crowley snapped. "I'm clearly having a crisis! Shit!"

"Oh," Aziraphale frowned, concerned. "What can I do to—"

"Shhhh!" Crowley held up a silencing finger with one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose with the other. "I dunno. I've got zero plan here. I'm already making a hash of this."

"Of what exactly?" Aziraphale asked, reaching out hesitantly. Crowley lashed out at once, capturing the angel's hand between his own. The move surprised them both, but he felt a calmness come over him the instant he held Aziraphale's hand.

"Do you have to go back to Soho?" he muttered, feeling his cheeks flush. Aziraphale's eyes widened, his gaze soft, and Crowley thought he might be blushing as well.

"I had assumed that was the plan once the danger had passed, but I've no firm plans either way," Aziraphale told him gently. "I could extend my stay if you'd like. I simply wouldn't want to overstay my welcome."

"Ugh, Would you?" Crowley grumbled, and then, when Aziraphale seemed confused again added “Would you stay?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale reassured him softly. “I’d be happy to stay as long as you’ll have me.”

“Heh… have you,” Crowley grinned affectionately. “Flirt.”

“You’re terrible,” Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but his blushy smile belied his annoyance. Crowley’s relief melted the cold lump in his throat. Aziraphale would stay. He had time to figure it all out. Aziraphale looked comfortable and fond and happy. He gave his hand a gentle squeeze and Crowley was no longer sure he needed the time after all.

“Sod it,” he sighed. He took a breath — took his chance — and leaned forward to touch a kiss to Aziraphale’s lips. He closed his eyes, afraid of seeing shock, or hurt, or pity in those kind blue eyes. Afraid of rejection. When no immediate rebuke came, he set his lips more firmly, and thrilled when he felt Azirpahale‘s free hand slide over his shoulder, pulling him closer. He felt the curve of the angel’s smile against his own. He didn’t know exactly what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this nearly all-encompassing feeling of rightness.

It wasn’t just that Aziraphale’s lips were soft as pillows and Crowley wanted to rest against them forever. It wasn’t just the pliancy he found where he expected a rebuke. It wasn’t just the sweet sounds of insistence between them or the slick heat when the pliancy and sounds led to Aziraphale’s pillowy lips parting for him. It was all of those things and something more. The way the angel held him, one hand on his lower back as the other drifted up his spine, felt like it was dragging something cold and clinging off of him. Some mouldering protective layer was being shed, dissolved in sunshine and Crowley was so happy to let it happen.

All at once it felt like the armour he’d wrapped himself in had, in fact, been chafing him raw for centuries. Suddenly he was free of it, exposing the red sores of himself to the cool and open air, drying out, warming up, healing. There was a broken moan from his own throat as he deepened the kiss, seeking more of that welcoming embrace, begging Aziraphale not to turn away from the chapped and weeping wreck of him. Hoping he could finally come out of hiding and live, realizing he had been hiding and waiting for so long.

And Aziraphale was flowing into him, melting to him, _accepting_ him. It was everything and not enough. Crowley was hungry for it all, starving for it. He grasped Aziraphale tightly, digging his fingers into the heavy beige coat, offended by it, pulling it off. (Aziraphale let him!) He dropped it over the arm of the sofa, smiling at the unimpressed snort at the cavalier treatment. He kissed that disgruntled mouth again, licking it clean of annoyance, and thrilled when Aziraphale gave back as well, if not better, than he got.

Waistcoats parted and Crowley’s shirt was untucked, his scarf flung over the back of the sofa with far less care than he’d shown the angel’s jacket thank you very much. He didn’t give a toss about it though. Not with soft fingers tracing over the skin on his hip before sliding confidently under his shirt.

The touch was electric, innocent and decadent all at once. Crowley whimpered as the fingertips whispered over his bumpy ribs, every slow millimetre of progress sending an overload of sensation directly to his stiffening cock. This was happening! Not just a kiss, but kisses and touches and _Oh! Christ!_ , Aziraphale was walking him backwards, pressing into him until the backs of his knees connected with the sofa. 

Then they were sprawled across the soft olive green cushions, Aziraphale eagerly settling his comfortable weight over his legs, tangling their limbs, tangling their tongues, tangling their fingers in each other's hair. His glasses were pulled off and dropped to the floor, a last piece of armour to fall.

It was easy. It might have been _too_ easy, if Crowley had been in a state of mind to be suspicious of such things. But Aziraphale had promised him he loved him, and, _Someone!_ Crowley loved Aziraphale with every black and red fibre of his unholy being. That’s why this was all right. That’s why he could let go of the thorns and embrace the roses. That’s why he could climb this immense height without fear of falling. Aziraphale was there. Aziraphale was here.

Aziraphale’s hands seemed to be everywhere except where Crowley dearly wanted them to be, and his heart was pounding — _Faster! Faster!_ — and he should savour this, shouldn’t he? 

But no, he had always been a 0 - 90 in seconds kind of demon. He’d always counted on Aziraphale to keep him grounded, slow him down, (hold him down!) and now the angel was all full speed ahead, so maybe this was all right after all?

“Ahhn...Angel,” he gasped, grinding up against Aziraphale’s thigh as more of that delicious weight pressed him against the sofa. “Never would have believed this would happen.”

“Mmmm,” Aziraphale agreed. “Much better than a 'mere morsel of my affection', darling?”

“Heh,” Crowley laughed breathlessly while his mind chewed on that odd turn of phrase. “Wot?”

Aziraphale made a hesitant sound against his throat. He redoubled his kisses and it felt so good, so perfect, except…

“Mere morsel…” he whispered, a cold dread worming through the heat of lust. The sense of rightness evaporated as the words flowed back to him. He’d read them so many times over the long years, he knew every entry by heart.

_How was I to tell him I did it all for the merest morsel of his affection?_

Crowley’s eyes snapped open, and he gripped Aziraphale by the shoulders to stop him. He had been happily screaming ahead at 90mph when he slammed the brakes and it was jarring, filling his mind with squealing tires and the smell of melted rubber. The roses didn’t stand a chance.

“You found it?” he gulped. “You _read_ it?”

And, if he was imagining things, if Aziraphale had only innocently used some archaic term of affection that Crowley wasn’t familiar with, then Aziraphale would look confused and concerned. Crowley _wanted_ to be overreacting. He _wanted_ this to just be a coincidence, a product of his overly dramatic mind. Then he could shake off the dread, and everything would be fine.

Aziraphale drew away, his fingers twitching at his unfastened waistcoat. His blue eyes were wide with fear and his kiss-swollen lips twisted into a guilty grimace. Crowley felt like he was sinking in tar, his heart fluttering in panic against his ribs. “When?” he croaked. “When did you read it?”

It wouldn’t make the journal un-read if Aziraphale had somehow come across it while staying with him, but Crowley needed to know if the journal had influenced the angel’s love confession. It wouldn’t save him the agonizing humiliation, but at least he could still believe— 

“While you were napping,” Aziraphale breathed, his eyes now brimming with tears. “Oh my dear, I’m so sorry. Normally I wouldn’t have even considered it— “

“ _Which_ nap?” Crowley snapped, his worry and hurt fusing into anger at the vague response. “Specifics, Aziraphale.”

“The long one,” he sighed. “I was tending your plants and you slept on and on, and I was bored. I shouldn’t have been snooping about, and when I realized the book was a journal I definitely shouldn’t have read it. I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry, my dear. It was dreadfully horrible of me.”

“Oh shit,” Crowley coughed, chest aching. He shoved Aziraphale off him so he could swing feet to the floor. He wanted to stand, to flee, but he didn’t trust his knees not to give out. He didn’t trust much right now. “Oh shit, Aziraphale. Is that wot upset you? Is that why you woke me up?” He looked at the angel, silently pleading with him to somehow take all of this back. Aziraphale looked so ashamed, staring sadly at his own hands now. Tears flowed freely over his cheeks as he nodded, but he looked up at the strangled wheeze of air ripped out of Crowley’s lungs as his chest painfully contracted.

Aziraphale found his journal and read it. He’d read all about Crowley’s secret love and desire. He’d read it all and panicked! And a couple days later he had confessed his own love seemingly out of the blue! It was all because of the stupid, insipid, journal! Crowley tore his gaze away, scooped up his glasses and put them back on. Aziraphale made a wet choking sound at the gesture, like he somehow felt the chainmail sliding back on, scraping across raw skin. It hurt so badly to wear it, but it was better than bleeding out. If Crowley had any hope of surviving this, if he and Aziraphale were going to continue in any way being near each other, he’d need every shred of protection he could find, jagged and tight as it may be.

“That explains things,” Crowley sighed, remembering how badly it had hurt to hear the words he longed to hear for so long and yet automatically assume they were false. He was just starting to consider he was wrong, but he should have trusted his instincts. 

Aziraphale hadn’t come to any realization on his own after all. He’d been guilted into it by Crowley’s journal. He must have been agonizing over those words for days trying to come up with some way to solve the _Crowley_ _Problem_.

Guilt, then. Not love. Or maybe it was even worse. Maybe the angel _convinced_ himself he really _was_ in love with Crowley when in truth he’s just lonely and the journal made him realize he was stuck with Crowley now so he might as well make the best of it. 

Or maybe it isn’t guilt over the journal, but all the previous barbs and rebukes and judgement. Aziraphale had certainly apologized ad nauseam for it all, no matter how many times Crowley had told him to just drop it already. Then the angel had read Crowley's confessions — confessions that were _never_ supposed to see the light of day — and decided loving Crowley was his responsibility. 

Maybe he just felt embarrassed and compelled to placate Crowley, saying 'I love you', because Crowley had unknowingly said it first. Maybe he continued the farce because he feared rejection would push the demon deeper into depression or he was afraid of what Crowley would do: Off himself probably, or finally succumb to the evil he was supposed to be.

  
  


He probably regretted saying he loved Crowley as deeply as he clearly regretted reading the journal in the first place. Aziraphale looked wretched, tears streaking his cheeks, eyes wild with fear. His Adam's apple bobbed madly in his pale throat, causing the loosened bowtie to quiver. All of him seemed to shake.

Crowley swallowed the pain of it all and it howled and clawed its way down his gullet, made a rats nest of his insides, but he couldn't fall apart if Aziraphale was falling apart.

He couldn't afford the weakness of emotion right now if he was going to salvage their friendship. He'd have to beat his heart dead to the grief and force himself to find contentment in reality.

Because it wasn't really so bad, was it? Aziraphale was only so upset because he was scared Crowley would be furious at his betrayal. (And Crowley was, despite having snooped through every inch of the bookshop at least once a decade ever since Aziraphale had taken ownership. He'd found plenty of journals and read every single one, but Aziraphale had been clever enough not to record anything to do with Crowley, to his disappointment.)

The fact was that Aziraphale _did_ love Crowley. That's why he was so afraid now. Aziraphale had to be nearly as terrified of losing the demon as Crowley was of losing the angel. Aziraphale's love wasn't in question. He'd shown his love and friendship in so many ways that were woven inextricably into the fabric of Crowley's personal history, diluting the Hell of him, and making him finally something at least worthy (maybe) of his continued acquaintance.

But every act of friendship was mirrored with a snubbing or an accusation or a cold recital of some "fact" about demons that they would both be wise to keep in mind.

Because Crowley was a demon. He would always be false, a fiend. He _loved_ Crowley, but he didn't _want_ him like Crowley had hoped. 

A "very good friend," he'd said. More than a false fiend could ever deserve. Crowley should be happy with that.

"Crowley," Aziraphale whispered as the silence stretched horribly, expanding the distance between them. "Please."

"Sss'all right, Angel," Crowley muttered, wincing at the hiss. He bit the inside of his cheek hard to centre himself as Aziraphale looked at him with wide hopeful eyes. Crowley cleared his throat and continued in a steadier voice.

"We'll be fine, Aziraphale," he assured him, even managing to give the angel's knee a friendly pat. "It makes more sense now, all of this," he gestured vaguely between them and the sofa. He pushed himself to stand in unsteady feet, inwardly screaming at his legs to keep him upright. 

"I'm just gonna need a moment to… sort myself out. I think maybe you should go back to Soho like you planned."

"Oh," Aziraphale sniffed. "Oh, of course. Yes, that's sensible."

"We can put this behind us," Crowley suggested, his voice sounding hollow and dead in his ears. "The journal, and everything, the confession and the… the kissing."

"I want you to know that I meant it, Crowley," Aziraphale 's voice sounded strangely firm despite the trembling. Crowley admired the Angel's incredible ability to lie. He was a natural from the very beginning.

"Let's not do this," Crowley pleaded. His calmness was as fake as Gabriel's smile and he was dangerously close to losing his shit. Aziraphale looked wounded. The bastard. 

"Don't look upset. We'll be fine," he reiterated with a growl. "It will be lunch at the Ritz and walks in the park again in no time. Just give me some bloody time."

And that was that.

Aziraphale had already begun collecting his things before Crowley had interrupted him with a soul-destroying request to stay. It took very little time to bag up the last of his things and then the angel was disappearing behind the closing lift doors and Crowley was free to fall apart.

He didn't. He stood in the middle of the sitting room considering his next move. He could scream and rave. He could shred the olive chesterfield and tear up the new floor. He could burn the journal and make an example out of one of his plants for good measure. (They were too attached to Aziraphale. It wasn't good for them. _)_ He could get wasted and hook up with some random bloke, give them the best sex they've ever had and then disappear forever…

He stood there, his knees locked in place to keep him standing. He didn't want to do any of those things. They all just seemed like too much work.

Eventually, slowly, Crowley folded himself to the floor and stared into the middle distance for hours until he was interrupted by his phone.

The ringing seemed to echo in the dark flat. ( _Dark?_ _Wasn't_ _it_ _just_ _morning?)_ He glumly fished the mobile out of his pocket, and scowled when he saw the name on the caller ID.

At once all his anger flared white hot, and he bolted upright in fury as he thumbed the screen to accept the call.

"Finally decided to call after ignoring me for two bloody weeks eh?" he seethed at Luca over the phone. "Well it's too late now, you barstarding shih tzu. I'm not sorry anymore!"

"Crowley…"

The demon stilled, gripping the phone tightly to his ear as all ire dissolved as quickly as it had come on. Luca's voice was weak and thready, and there was a quiet inhaled breath that rattled disconcertingly. He'd heard the likes before and it was unmistakable. Luca was in a very bad way.

"Where are you?" he demanded urgently. Luca's response was barely more than a faint whimper. "Luca!" Crowley snapped, hoping to wake the incubus up. "Tell me where you are!"

"Crow… "

"Luca, you idiot! Tell me where you are!"

_Fuck it,_ he decided. Luca was clearly either too weak or too delirious. If Soleil had killed his incubus she was going to regret it for the rest of her very short life.

Crowley took a breath and sent himself into the cellular network, zipping through radio waves and bouncing off towers, focused on that single frequency he couldn't afford to lose.

_"Crowley…"_

He emerged on the other side to a chill concrete floor and the rank smell of fish. It was dark, and there were dock sounds echoing somewhere outside. If he had to guess, they were in one of any number of warehouses on the quay. It was dark, but he was made for the darkness and could see the crumpled shape of Luca perfectly. He was lying on the floor, bruised and bloody, wearing nothing but a dirty thin shift around his hips. A thick leather collar was fastened around his throat. His wrists and ankles were darkened with telltale cuts and bruises that came from struggling against heavy shackles. 

Crowley snarled at the sight and fell to his knees, pulling Luca closer to him. His back was ripped raw from what looked like numerous lashings and that was only the most obvious injury he could see. His skin looked almost ghostly white against the shock of black hair. His normally neatly trimmed beard had grown nearly half an inch, just enough to look unruly and add insult to injury. How long had he been imprisoned? Was this in retaliation for Crowley's dramatic threat display? 

Luca drew another shallow breath, barely conscious, and Crowley could tell by the thin, slightly green cast to his pale skin that the incubus had been starved. He hadn't even been fed enough to heal his injuries. That fucking succubus would suffer when Crowley got his hands on her. 

"Where the fuck is Soleil?" Crowley hissed, eyeing the door to the warehouse angrily. The danger, it turned out, had been behind him the whole time.

Pain bloomed bright behind his eyes as something hard collided with brutal efficiency with the back of his skull. Crowley pitched to the side and was swallowed by the dark before he hit the floor.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yell at me in the comments, then come yell at me again on [my Twitter](https://twitter.com/TheaSutton4), or [my Tumblr](https://verdantvulpus.tumblr.com/)!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley must act quickly when wakes up to find Luca near death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning. Discussions of sexual extortion.  
> This chapter contains references and discussion of (off screen) rape and non-consensual sex. If you want more information to determine if you should skip or not, you can click the "more notes" button to take you to the bottom of the page to read a low detail spoiler of the sensitive content. There is no graphic violence in this chapter, but it is an emotionally heavy one.
> 
> Special thanks once more to [PinkPenguinParade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkPenguinParade/pseuds/PinkPenguinParade) for the awesome beta reading work.

It could have gone worse. That's what Aziraphale told himself for what must have been the hundredth time as he wandered aimlessly around the shop. 

He had decided not to bother opening for business. He certainly wouldn't have been at the shop had things had gone better earlier today, so he didn't see a reason to open simply because things had gone terribly.

Terribly, but they could have been worse, he reminded himself again. He'd been positive that Crowley would be furious should he ever learn of his indiscretion with the journal, but Crowley had been eerily calm. It was clear that the demon was upset with him, that it had undone whatever trust Aziraphale had built between them that led to that transcendental snogging. 

Aziraphale had anticipated loud angry accusations or Crowley fleeing to some dark corner of the world to lick his wounds and not emerge for another century or so. He'd feared their side to be badly fractured by his betrayal. 

Instead, Crowley had quietly assured Aziraphale that they would be alright and they would always be friends. He'd been polite and rational with his request for some time alone to come to terms with this. 

It should have been a relief that Crowley neither ran, nor raged. Out of all the ways this could fall apart this was certainly one of the more fortuitous. 

It definitely could have been so much worse.

Crowley would come around in good time and things might be awkward for a little while but then they would go out for lunch or take a stroll like they used to. It would be fine. 

Aziraphale sank into his wingback chair and choked on a sudden sob. He didn't want to go back to the way things were. He didn't want to keep hiding his love, living his life with half a heart. 

He was relieved to not have completely lost Crowley, but for now, sitting alone in a darkening backroom where their memories flitted about the shadows like ghosts, Aziraphale was having trouble imagining how this could be worse.

******

His first thought was a simple, but no less profound ‘ _O_ _w!_ ’ Crowley tried to open his eyes but the pain reverberating throughout his skull told him he wasn’t ready for any other stimulus just yet.

His second thought was more of a memory: Luca crumpled on the cold floor, bloodied and limp. He was in trouble and Crowley should really open his eyes and find out if he was still alive.

His third thought came with a wave of cold fury. Soleil. That bloody succubus had no flaming idea how much shite she was in, picking a fight with the Serpent of Eden. He’d rip the heart right out of her for this.

His fourth thought though was the really disturbing one. The air here tasted wrong. Like not-from-Earth kind of wrong. His stuttering, wounded, brain struggled over the arithmetic there, but it knew enough to figure that _Crowley_ might be the one currently in the shit.

He really needed to open his eyes.

“Fuuuu—” he groaned, rolling over onto his stomach and trying to brace against the pain as he pried his leaden eyelids open, wincing and blinking as he was immediately assailed with far too much _white._ He squeezed his eyes shut again for a moment. He’d at least been able to confirm one thing. He was _definitely_ the one in the shit.

He grit his teeth and forced his eyes open again, tasting the air through dry lips, and together his sight and scent were able to focus enough for him to turn the blurry shape before him into something familiar.

“Luca,” he groaned, struggling onto his elbows. Fear snapped him out of his stupor and shoved his agonizing migraine into the background. The fear morphed into full blown panic as he scrabbled across the floor and pulled the incubus onto his lap only to find him cold. The chill seemed to seep into Crowley’s very being, turning his thoughts into slush. He couldn’t remember what to do. He was a demon! Demons weren’t healers. He never paid attention to this sort of thing before. He’d never needed to. He’d only ever cared about one person’s well being and _they_ were the one with the smarts and the healing talents both. The whole time, Crowley, with his all-or-nothing heart, had had his yellow eyes firmly on Aziraphale and believed that meant there was nothing left for anyone else. 

But now, as he rocked Luca gently, Crowley found that he had a larger reservoir of caring than he’d previously thought. He reached for the incubus’ limp hands and tried to warm them between his own trembling fingers, and Crowley prayed. It wasn’t unusual for him to speak to God — most recently to shout obscenities at Her in hopes of flustering the angel— but it was seldom meaningful. He tended to believe She wasn’t listening anyway. There were times, however, when Crowley _needed_ so powerfully that he was compelled to beg Her for mercy. He knew better than to ask on behalf of himself, damned as he was, but he had prayed for the Earth. He had prayed for Aziraphale. Now he prayed for Luca, because maybe, now that he was _here_ — why did it have to be _here?!_ — and so much closer to Her, maybe she might hear him and take some bloody pity.

He knew the universe was stupid and cruel but _Come on!_ This was too much! These hands had all too recently been strong and talented. Crowley had watched them as Luca played piano for him, in secret awe from behind his glasses. He had watched them play across his own body, pulling music from his own throat. There had always been passion in these hands, and now there was nothing but lifeless skin and bone.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley sobbed into thick black hair. “I fucked it all up. I didn’t mean any of it. You deserved so much better than this. Please. _Please, Luca…_ ” Crowley hugged the incubus tightly, pressing his tear-splashed lips to the cool skin of his neck. “I’m sorry,” Crowley moaned into Luca’s hair. “S’my fault. I shoulda looked for you.” He should have done a lot of things, least of which would be to have admitted the incubus was his sodding _friend_. Because there had been their arrangement, sure, but also music and ales and laughter.

He wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

Luca whimpered then, a faint shadow of a sound that cut through Crowley’s grief like molten glass. Crowley’s brain immediately engaged, and he pressed his fingers to Luca’s neck searching for a pulse, before giving up on that because corpses don’t whimper and there were better things to do with his limited time.

“Wake up,” he shook the incubus gently. “I'm sorry I pushed synthesizers into such popularity in the 80's." He laughed weakly, remembering how much Luca hated them. They'd argued about it over Luca's cheap upright piano with the coffee rings stained into the wood. "I swear if we get out of this I'm getting you a proper piano and you can't say no this time,” he bargained with a desperate grin. 

Luca didn't move, far too weak from his injuries and starvation. Incubi needed sexual energy to heal and without it even a paper cut would take ages to seal over. Crowley knew what he needed to do, but it would be much more _comfortable_ if Luca would wake up first.

“Please forgive me,” he whispered against Luca’s still lips before sealing them in a gentle kiss. He held the incubus gently, pulling him close against his chest, hoping against hope for a reaction. 

Nothing. Luca was too far gone. 

Crowley snapped his fingers, trying to summon a demonic miracle but his magic flickered away in an instant. Crowley whined in distress, finally noticing the runes along the walls of the room and realizing they were inside a devil’s trap. He sighed. No miracles then. But Crowley could still taste the air, so there was a fair chance that other innate abilities would still work too. Crowley closed his eyes, took a breath, and when he opened them again he let his temptation powers flow to the surface.

He had seldom done this before. Crowley hadn’t been confined to temptations in a while and even when he was, he liked to consider himself an expert in his field. He considered it a craft. Using your Satan-given powers to just whammy a human into sin was cheating. 

To be clear, Crowley was very much on board with cheating as a general rule, but he found this sort of thing cheated _him._ There wasn’t any satisfaction to it, and satisfaction was the closest thing a demon could get to peace.

So anyway, it had been _a_ _while_ , and he half expected himself to be rusty. He took it as a win, therefore, when he felt the power fill him like it had been waiting for this for eons. He sensed more than saw the dull ruddy light under his freckled skin, knew his eyes would be glowing like embers, and had there been any humans nearby they would be stricken by a sense of awe, leaning in eagerly to hear his wicked _Suggestion._

“Come back to me,” he commanded Luca, tracing a strong jaw with long fingers that glowed hot like magma. A very slight warmth seemed to seep into the pale skin beneath his touch, and Luca shivered. It was another sign of life and Crowley took it as a sign that this would help rouse the brunette, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough to save him. In fact, the innate power of temptation likely wouldn’t do much of anything on its own. Luca was a minor demon, Earthborn, and human in so many ways, but he had a strong will. The stronger wills needed tailored temptations. It was always more effective when it was personal.

This was going to hurt.

“Come back, babe,” he purred, trailing warm kisses over cold flesh and forcing the self-loathing down though it clung to the back of his throat like bile. “I love you, Luca. Come back to me. Let me show you…”

Luca whimpered again and his eyelashes fluttered weakly. Crowley repeated the temptation, uttered more sweet nothings. He comforted the incubus, weaving his terrible spell, and he couldn’t help but grin in relief when Luca turned his head ever so slightly, unconsciously chasing Crowley’s kiss. 

“That’s it, my love,” Crowley choked, hating himself more and more with each sweet word. He was abundantly aware of the cruel irony in doing to Luca what Aziraphale had done to him. It had to matter that this lying love was necessary to save Luca’s life. He clung to that reasoning as he kissed Luca’s warming lips and felt them fall open in a shuddering gasp.

Luca had always come when Crowley had called, with a sexy smile and open heart. And Crowley… Crowley always called.

Then Crowley had turned on him, treated him like a whore, called him a parasite. He’d convinced himself that Luca was nothing but a convenience, just an acquaintance. Luca was someone he could take his shit out on and walk away. He didn’t owe the incubus anything. That’s what he’d told himself. But now… 

He’d accept whatever came next, but he’d save Luca’s life. 

Crowley at least owed him that. 

“Let me make it better, sweetheart,” he whispered, jostling the incubus slightly as he shucked his jacket. “Let me give you wot you need.” 

It was far from sexy and didn’t feel particularly romantic, but Crowley shed his clothes as quickly as he could, pressing his warm glowing skin against Luca’s. The incubus’ reaction was nearly immediate. His skin erupted in gooseflesh and he shivered again, curling his bruised body into Crowley’s, seeking more contact. Exhausted blue eyes cracked open, unfocused and glowing faintly with their own demonic pale light. Luca’s jaw went slack, opening to reveal sharp wolf-like teeth, and a quiet rasping growl. A soft hand pressed lightly over Crowley’s heart before trailing lower as Luca’s own innate powers woke and fell into survival mode. Crowley blinked away bitter-sweet tears of relief and sorrow and kissed Luca again, rolling them onto their sides and thrilling when Luca’s mouth finally moved against his, when Luca’s drifting hand finally found its target and grasped it firmly, pulling a moan from Crowley that was only half-forced. 

It turned out that an incubus’ innate survival instinct was strong, and Crowley was almost impressed with how his temptation seemed to double back on him. His cock twitched and filled in Luca’s palm, and he thrust against it, his senses dulling to anything outside this heat between them. 

Luca was moving too slowly, too sluggishly, so Crowley rolled the incubus onto his back and draped himself over him, sucking kisses into his throat along the line of his coarse beard and tilting his erection gently against his hips. 

Luca drew a hissing breath, his head falling back. His hand clamped hard around Crowley’s effort again and this time his moan wasn’t the least bit forced. He understood, distantly, how fucked up this was, but that wasn’t important. Luca was coming to. His heartbeat, his breath, his spirit, it was all gaining strength with every gentle touch and heated kiss. 

“Crowley…” Luca sighed, his nose pressed against his throat, inhaling his scent.

“That’s right, love,” Crowley whispered back. “It’s me. I’m here.”

Luca’s eyes drifted open, still unfocused and hazy, but his pained expression softened and he looked almost peaceful as his free hand drifted up into Crowley’s bright red hair.

“Crowley…” he groaned, his peaceful features morphing again into something lustful and borderline wild. The hand around Crowley's effort moved, stroking him firmly. The other hand fisted in his hair and tugged gently. Crowley surrendered to it, clinging to Luca’s shoulders and thrusting into the circle of his hand as the pleasure built rapidly at the base of his undulating spine. He felt drunk on it, unable to fight it. He whined helplessly as the orgasm built, writhing on top of the incubus and begging pitifully. He came all too quickly, spurting hot and wet between the crush of their bodies, and it was definitely Luca’s name on his lips this time.

Luca arched backwards under him, stretching his long body as Crowley groaned and shook apart. All at once the incubus seemed to come to life, eyes wide and feral, teeth sharp. Crowley had barely begun to glue his brain back together when he suddenly found himself being pulled up by the shoulders and pushed back to sit against the wall behind him. Luca growled and dropped his head to nip at Crowley's collarbone and sternum before lapping slowly at the dripping ejaculate on Crowley's chest and belly. 

Crowley drew a ragged breath through his teeth, watching that artful contrast of nimble pink tongue and dark moustache and beard. Glowing ice-blue eyes gazed up at him through messy black hair but fluttered closed again when Crowley swept the damp locks out of the way with a shaky hand. 

He hadn’t been kidding when he told Luca he didn’t have to be concerned with trivial things like a refractory period, although he generally preferred to indulge in a good afterglow. The incubus wasn’t having it though, shaking loose of Crowley’s caress and licking away the traces of spend left on his cock while it twitched and filled again. Crowley groaned, forcing himself to surrender once more, to ignore the strange surroundings and imminent danger and focus on the pleasure pulsing through him as he thrust lazily into the hollow of Luca’s mouth.

Luca was _alive._ That was the first hurdle to cross and — _Oh! Ffff! Luca’s tongue was a marvel!_

Crowley hissed and bucked up into the tight, wet heat surrounding him, running his hands up the soft skin over Luca's ribs. They both flinched when Crowley’s questing fingers dragged across the open skin on Luca’s back. Luca was alive, but still had a lot of healing to do. There was a wildness in the way he moved that suggested the incubus was still in the throes of Crowley’s temptation, as well as his own instincts, and yet the gentle nuzzling of Crowley’s skin and hesitant hands made it abundantly clear Luca was trying to control himself. Was he actually afraid he could hurt Crowley?

“It’s all right, Luca,” Crowley assured him. “I need you better. Take wot you need.”

Luca released Crowley’s twitching effort and climbed up his body, crushing his lips in a savage kiss. It felt almost frantic — borderline painful — and Crowley gasped and moaned as Luca sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and bit. Crowley twisted his fingers in Luca’s hair and pulled, making the incubus writhe on his lap and groan, his jaw falling slack for Crowley to thrust his forked tongue inside that hot mouth. 

He felt Luca shift on his lap, positioning himself over Crowley’s aching cock and Crowley instantly let go of his hair to grab his hips.

“Wait,” he hissed. “Let me work you open first, you idiot. I’ll hurt you.”

Luca didn’t seem to care, his eyes glowing brightly as he grabbed Crowley’s wrists off his hips and shoved them against the wall above the demon’s head. Crowley groaned in want, because despite everything, he was a sucker for some good rough sex, but the purpose of all this was to _heal_ Luca. He was trying his blessed hardest to be gentle, but Luca was taking control, taking what he needed like Crowley had commanded. Crowley winced in sympathy as the incubus lowered himself onto Crowley’s erection in one smooth movement. Crowley’s thoughts stuttered and failed, flaring in pleasure, but mostly in confusion. Luca was ready for him, fully open and slightly slick. 

“Luca…” Crowley began warily, but Luca ignored him and started a gentle undulation of his pelvis that should have been more pleasant than it was with this detail prickling Crowley's brain. It would be a useful trick if incubi could innately just make themselves open and wet without a miracle, but Crowley knew from experience that they couldn’t. Luca always had a little tube of lubricant in a jacket pocket, and he’d had to slow Crowley down a few times in the past because rough was good, but actual pain was bad.

“Oh shit, Luca…” Crowley whined, almost hating his body for reacting so excitedly now as Luca started riding him harder. “Luca, why are you _open?_ Wot hap—” Crowley’s questioning was cut short when the incubus grabbed his head between his hands, frosty blue eyes boring into Crowley’s.

“Eyes on me. See _me_ ,” Luca growled as he picked up the pace, fucking himself with abandon on Crowley’s lap. Crowley kept his eyes open, watched the bruises fading from tanned skin, the cuts slowly folding closed as the incubus used him. Crowley licked his dry lips, thrusting up to meet Luca on every downstroke, losing himself to the pleasure. Luca’s body sucked him in, and he was beautiful, gorgeous, precious. Crowley was grateful he didn’t have to blink because he didn’t want to miss even the smallest part of this. 

Luca was in his dark wretched soul, filling him as fiercely as Crowley filled him. They were perfect together. He didn’t know why he’d never seen it before. It was obvious. Luca was everything.

“I love you,” Crowley gasped, pleasure climbing towards its peak. Luca grinned wildly, eyes twin blue flames as he pressed their foreheads together, groaning. 

“Only me,” Luca demanded and Crowley nodded vigorously. 

"Yes Yes,” he gasped. “Only ever you!”

Luca moaned and kissed him again, sweet and deep, insistent sounds of pleasure sliding from his throat and then he moaned brokenly and it was the hottest thing Crowley had ever heard. He wrapped his clammy palms around Luca’s erection and pumped hard, hating himself for letting his lover go untouched for this long. Luca cried out, eyes finally squeezing shut as he came, slamming their hips together and grinding hard. Crowley was right behind him, overcome by ecstacy and the gorgeous sight of Luca coming undone for him, coating him with his pleasure.

Luca braced himself with his hands against the wall on either side of Crowley’s head, panting, and Crowley kissed his bearded chin, his throat, his neck, and slid his hands along the perfectly unbroken skin of his back.

“Only you,” Crowley whispered, clinging to Luca almost desperately. He couldn’t believe how stupid he’d been, how much it had nearly cost him.

Luca shook his head, blinking slowly, his dark eyebrows drawn down in confusion.

“What? You…No. No, Crowley…” Luca frowned, and Crowley whined. Why was Luca frowning at him? What did he do wrong?

“You don’t love me,” Luca insisted sadly before leaning in to whisper in his ear. “Remember your angel, Crowley.” 

Crowley wanted to force Luca to look at him — to _believe_ him— but something about those words stopped him.

“Aziraphale?” he whispered back, confused. He felt like he was dreaming. Luca was looking at him so sadly Crowley wanted to cry. The incubus nodded while he stroked Crowley’s hair.

“That’s right. Think about him,” Luca told him quietly. “You'll be alright. It'll wear off soon.”

Crowley shrugged, willing to indulge Luca, and thought about Aziraphale. He thought about the stuffy bow tie and the rigid refusal to keep up with the times. He thought about all the insults and judgmental comments he’d lobbed at Crowley over the centuries. He thought about the Arrangement and how terrible Azirpahale had been at his first temptation, but then, also, how eager he was to learn from Crowley and improve. 

He thought about the shared drinks, and jokes, and stories, and the way Aziraphale had risked everything he’d ever known, everything he’d ever believed, for Crowley. How the stuffy bow tie actually seemed to suit him. How his eyes shone when he laughed and how much Crowley loved to make him laugh. How much Crowley loved…

“Shit…” he breathed, staring up at Luca wide-eyed. He could feel his cheeks burning.

“Yeah,” Luca shrugged sheepishly before patting Crowley on the shoulder and sliding off his lap. He used the shift he had been wearing to clean them both off while Crowley just sat there stunned for a while.

"I guess the incubus powers are more potent than I thought," he mumbled finally.

"Can be," Luca agreed with a wince. "When we go all out. I don't think I've ever unleashed anything like that before though. I'm sorry, Crowley. There's no excuse for what I did."

"No excuse?" Crowley laughed, incredulous. "I triggered your powers myself with my temptation, Luca. I did it on purpose. You did wot I wanted, I just didn't know _I_ could get pulled under.”

"On purpose?" Luca looked confused. "Why?"

"Wot d’ya mean ‘why’? You were about to _die_ ," Crowley snorted, reaching for his clothes. "If all it took was a temptation and a shag to save your life, I'd be a shite friend not to, yeah?"

"Temptation…" Luca whispered with a pensive frown. "I remember. You told me you.." he trailed off looking away. "It was a temptation?"

"Had to reach you," Crowley muttered, pulling on his pants. "Looks like the temptation has worn off now that you're better though."

"Right," Luca nodded, solemnly. "And… _my_ power?"

" _Obsession,"_ Crowley chuckled wryly and kept his gaze down as he focused on getting dressed. It wouldn't do to have Luca see the way his face burned in humiliation and assume Crowley was angry with _him_ . No. Crowley was still kicking himself for not knowing about that. He'd been hanging around with Luca for decades, happily assuming he was far above him in demonic power. And he _was_ , but if he ever bothered to learn more about incubi he might have at least known about _this._ He might not have let his guard down— what was he thinking? Of course he bloody would. Luca would have died otherwise. He waved it off _._ "Nothin' I wosn't already prone to. Obsessive by nature, me."

"No, I mean," Luca chewed his lip for a second and looked uncomfortable. "I mean, are you still affected? Are you — "

"Obsessed with you?" Crowley smiled sadly and he felt the hollows of his chest ache at the faint hope he saw in Luca's eyes even as the incubus fought like heaven to shove it down.

"No," Crowley assured him as gently as he could, and then, because it felt like he needed to say more, admitted, "Thanks to you. You pulled me out of it. Nearly snared the Serpent of Eden. Well done you." He said lightly. He meant it to be a compliment. He meant it to be an apology for underestimating him all these years, an acknowledgment that Luca had done the decent, honourable thing by reminding Crowley of who he _truly_ loved. 

"Obsession isn't love," Luca told him with a shrug. "Our kind know that better than anyone."

"I'm sorry," Crowley told him, because he was. About so many things.

"I'm the one who should apologize, Crowley," Luca sighed, handing him his jacket. "I've got these notions that are, apparently, pretty human. I've never seen Hell, so I guess I just related better with them. I should have listened to you when you were talking about incubi."

Well, Crowley didn't like the sound of _that_. "Luca. I was talkin' shite about incubi and you know it."

"And _you_ knew what Hell thinks of my kind. What they _do_ with my kind, and I wasn't listening. I should have heard the warning but I was all wrapped up in my human ideas."

"Human ideas…" Crowley echoed quietly.

"You know… personhood…"

Crowley shook his head, confused. Luca wasn’t wrong about how Hell treated incubi and succubi but what did _that_ matter? All Heaven would care about was that Luca was a demon, never mind what _kind_.

"Luca. I know you've been tortured and starved and all, but you know this isn't _Hell_ , right?"

"I know,” Luca nodded, sliding his back down the wall to sit hugging his knees. Luca had always looked so comfortable wearing nothing but his skin, but now he looked vulnerable in his nakedness. “But the archangel ran into a duke of Hell on the way here and they discussed… _me_."

"Oh," Crowley grimaced. He could imagine which duke it was, and how interested Sandalphon might be to hear what Hastur had to say about incubi, the bastards. "Wot happened?"

"Incubi and Succubi are a big joke in Hell, I gather,” Luca shrugged, hugging his knees tighter. “Playthings or… or pets."

"Yeeeeaahhh," Crowley winced. "Hell's not exactly wot you'd call… progressive." Heaven wasn't either, but he kept schtum on that considering where they were. 

"He'd never had a plaything before," Luca muttered. "Never had a pet either. He decided to make the most of having me."

Crowley felt sick. He swallowed thickly to keep from vomiting on the gleaming white floor. “Sandalphon was curious about incubi? He…” Crowley coughed, unable to say it.

“He said something about Sodom and Gomorrah,” Luca growled. “Something about doing his job happily but being curious what it was about given that God apparently changed Her mind about ‘such things’.”

“Luca,” Crowley crouched in front of the incubus but Luca wouldn’t look at him. “Did he…?”

“At first he was just curious what the big deal was,” Luca answered flatly, his eyes downcast, his face devoid of emotion. “Then I guess he decided he liked it. Figured there’d be no harm in keeping me caged and using me for what _I_ _was_ _intended_. It’s an angel’s job to thwart demons.”

“Shit… Luca… You’re his—”

"I'm whatever he decides I am at any given moment," Luca growled. "But mostly I was his prisoner, and his bait. He wanted to know how you and your angel survived your 'trials', but of course I had no idea what he was talking about. Took him a few days to believe me though."

Didn't need any great imagination to figure how Sandalphon had determined _that_.

"And then he decided he'd ask you himself,” Luca continued. “He wanted to use me as a trap. I tried to warn you but he brought me to Earth so seldom and you weren't sleeping. By the time I got a connection I guess I was too weak to get the message across.” Luca sighed and rubbed at a stain on the pearly floor with his shift. “Your mind kept turning me into _him._ "

Crowley could just smack himself. The dream! He thought there had been something weird about it, and then later when he found Luca looking so much like Aziraphale had in the dream, Crowley should have realized the danger before it snuck up on him with a sap. He started to apologize again, but there weren’t any more words for how sorry he was.

“You should have saved your energy,” Luca told him, finally looking up. “I appreciate you trying to save me, but you should have concentrated on yourself.”

“Luca, you were _dying_ ,” Crowley spat. 

“And then it would be over,” Luca argued. “It isn’t like I _want_ to die, but Dominie says he intends to keep me until I no longer entertain and— 

“Dominie?!” Crowley grimaced, disgusted.

“Yes, the archangel makes me call him _‘Dominie’_ .” Luca rolled his eyes. “That’s not important. He means to keep me as his dog, or his whore, or his punching bag, and he’s either going to kill me by accident, or starve me to death. And while I wait for _that_ to happen, I get to watch him torture someone I care for. The only thing I get out of survival is a winding path to madness and a painful smiting when he finally gets bored, and who knows when _that_ will be? I could have centuries of being his companion! So yeah! I’ll take oblivion next time it's offered, thanks.”

Crowley blinked, reeling. Out of all the horror he’d just heard, somehow ‘oblivion’ was the worst of it. He watched Luca curl in on himself in despair and hated having to say anything that could make the incubus feel worse, but he had to know that there wouldn’t be any oblivion for him.

“Luca… you’re a _demon_ ,” he told him carefully.

“Mmhmm,” Luca hummed. “So I’ve heard.”

“Luca,” Crowley took his hand, waited for him to look at him before continuing. “Luca. You’re _damned.”_

“No,” Luca frowned. “I’m not from Hell. We’re born on Earth. We don’t get discorporated when we die. We just die.”

“You do…” Crowley winced. “And then you end up in Hell.”

Luca stared at him and Crowley saw the hammer drop. 

“In Hell,” he echoed and Crowley nodded. “Where incubi are toys and pets…” Crowley nodded again. “And a duke knows about me, knows I’m your friend. Knows I’m property of an archangel…”

“Yeeeaappp,” Crowley sighed. “You’ll probably end up being traded back to Sandy for a favour.”

"Well, fuck!" Luca laughed mirthlessly. "All _this_ and I still don't even get the guy."

Crowley flinched, hating to have made it on this list. He almost tried to argue for hope. _Maybe if things were different. Maybe when he finally got over the angel. Maybe if they both got out of this somehow…_

The _maybes_ were weak at best. Crowley sat down beside Luca, his proximity the best comfort he had to offer.

“I really am damned,” Luca whispered. For a moment it looked like he was about to cry, but he only stared at the wall opposite. It was a long time before either of them spoke again. There just didn't seem to be anything left to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning for Sexual Extortion: Low detailed spoilers:  
> While making love to heal Luca, Crowley notices that Luca has already been prepared for sex, and is concerned by the implication.  
> Crowley learns that Sandalphon has consulted with a duke of Hell to learn more about incubi. As a result, Sandalphon has decided this is what incubi are for, and thus has not only been physically torturing Luca, but has him Luca as a personal sex toy/pet. There are NO explicit details of this assault. Sandalphon is not present at all in this chapter.
> 
> Scream at me in the comments. Not satisfied? Scream some more on  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/TheaSutton4), or [Tumblr](https://verdantvulpus.tumblr.com/)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandalphon is an arsehole. That's the summary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW physical assault. Minimal blood. Not particularly graphic. Not nearly as bad as what Crowley was expecting.
> 
> High probability of angst.

The tea was scalding. Aziraphale winced at the sharp burn across his tongue, so shocked by it that he nearly spilled the tea onto his lap. Thankfully he managed to avert an even greater injury, setting the cup back on the saucer with a grimace and a disgruntled hum. He really was terribly out of sorts. 

The night had passed so interminably, and while he knew better than to expect a call from Crowley any time soon he couldn’t seem to stop himself from staring at the telephone. He forced himself to go through the motions of preparing the shop after being closed for a fortnight. He put away the books he had brought with him to Mayfair, and carefully replaced his current restoration project on the work surface in the mezzanine. He checked his messages. He checked auction house websites for possible new acquisitions. He sent out a fresh miracle to change the shop from _too dusty_ to just _dusty enough_. He stared at his watch. He stared at the telephone. 

_‘It will be lunch at the Ritz and walks in the park again in no time,’_ Crowley had said. But what constituted ‘no time’ in this particular context? Aziraphale was uncomfortably unfamiliar with Crowley being so cross with him without the feeling being mutual. He understood very well what he had done wrong, and accepted that he should count himself fortunate that this period of silence was going to be the greatest of his punishments for his infraction. 

Oh, but Aziraphale hated waiting. He could go on and on about the virtue of patience, and he could pretend to actually possess said virtue when in the presence of others, but truthfully, Aziraphale felt made for instant gratification.

So while it was undeniably fortunate that Crowley wasn’t angrier with him, it _did_ force Aziraphale to relinquish even the smallest amount of control he could have found in begging for forgiveness! 

Crowley had set reasonable terms— _‘Just give me some bloody time’_ — and Aziraphale would respect that. He would bide his time and wait. He’d find something to distract himself with… because the adage of boiling watched pots might as well apply to ringing telephones and there was no dignity in wallowing in despair. At this point it was dangerously close to sulking. It was beginning to feel almost indulgent.

Aziraphale pressed his scalded tongue against the roof of his mouth, frowning at the fuzzy prickling sensation before sighing in frustration and healing the burn. He really didn’t have any patience at all. If he was going to have any luck at this he would have to put a time limit on it or he was bound to run screaming to Mayfair, laden with bouquets and sonnets and desperation.

Two weeks. He would keep his distance for a fortnight more, and if by then he hadn’t yet heard from the demon, then he would reach out.

  
  
  


*****

Luca was singing. The familiar melody lifted Crowley out of his uncomfortable sleep and he continued to listen with his eyes closed for a while. Music calmed the incubus, and if he knew Crowley was awake he would stop singing. The thing was, the singing calmed Crowley too, reminded him that Luca was alive. Not _just_ alive, but alive and _singing._ Crowley reminded himself that souls without hope didn’t bother comforting themselves or others. They didn’t find the meagre advantage of their cell’s acoustics and lift their voices, rich and beautiful. The truly damned don’t sing.

And they definitely don’t sing _Feeling Good_. Crowley smiled, despite himself. Luca had told him the story about the first time he’d heard the song sung by Cy Grant and falling in love with jazz from then on. Crowley had heard the song over and over. Luca had performed it, bright and sparkling, his fingers flying across the keys. He’d played it as a heartbreaking ballad. 

Now it sounded like rebellion. Crowley opened his eyes. Luca was seated cross legged against the opposite wall, eyes closed and chin defiantly lifted as he sang. He launched into another verse, finally opening crystal blue eyes and trailing off weakly when he noticed Crowley watching him. He flushed slightly over his dark beard and looked away. Crowley frowned. That was new. Luca had never been ashamed of his voice before.

Then Luca yelped and bolted upright as an invisible force seemed to grab him by the wrists and yank them over his head until he was forced to stand on his toes. A second later Crowley was similarly grabbed and hoisted against the wall, his arms stretched high overhead. He struggled to find his footing for a second, his heart in his throat from the rude shock of it all, then eventually came to rest on the balls of his feet.

“I take it Sandy’s coming,” Crowley growled. Luca nodded wordlessly. Crowley growled again, his eyes darting around anxiously. Their cell was a white featureless cube with four gleaming walls, and a shining flat floor and ceiling. There was no door. The attack could come from anywhere. It was almost anticlimactic when the drab-suited and balding archangel stepped through the wall between them with all his violence contained to his malicious grin.

"I thought I heard that honeyed voice," Sandalphon jeered at Luca, completely ignoring Crowley. "I'm glad to see you feeling so much better, Wolfie. I thought you were a goner for sure."

The angel's beady eyes trailed down Luca's bare body and sneered. "I believe I told you to keep yourself covered." He snatched up Luca's filthy shift from where it had been discarded in the corner. It was now even more soiled and crusty with dried spend and Sandalphon recoiled in disgust, pinching it between two fingers. He glared at the pitiful garment then finally looked between the demons with a horrible gold-toothed smirk.

"So that's how you heal _after all_ ," he leered at Luca who flinched and flushed red. "I was beginning to wonder if Hastur was lying. _Angelic_ healing _hurts_ you, so I suppose it is logical you can't _feed_ off angels either. Lucky we were able to feed you a demon in time."

"S’nothin’ to do with being a demon," Crowley snarled, trying to pull the archangel's attention away from Luca. “Incubi feed off _lust_ , you idiot, not coercion. I thought you angels were supposed to be above such disgusting acts.” Sandalphon finally turned towards him and Crowley smirked his ugliest smirk in defiance.

"He seems well fed _now,_ " Sandalphon smirked back. "Seems you have a lot of lust to spare. I wonder how your traitorous little boyfriend feels about that."

Crowley bit his tongue. He wasn't sure if it would be worse to confirm or deny a greater relationship with Aziraphale than he had.

"In any case…" the archangel continued, looking back up Luca's body. "This won't do." He snapped his fingers and Luca was dressed in fresh white joggers and long sleeved tee-shirt. Luca flinched at the miracle but looked distinctly relieved to no longer be naked. After three centuries, this might well have been the first time Luca felt glad to cover his body. 

Crowley kept his concern hidden. It wouldn’t be good for either of them if Sandalphon decided Luca could be used to hurt him. And Sandalphon clearly wanted to hurt him, judging by the malicious gleam in his eyes as he approached.

Crowley sensed the blow coming and tensed just as the archangel slammed his fist into his stomach. Crowley barely had time to suck in a breath before another two punches landed beside the first. He coughed and wheezed as his corporation complained at the abuse but mostly Crowley was surprised it didn’t hurt _more._

“Didn’t care for that, did you, snake?” Sandy jeered, clearly greatly pleased with himself.

“None of this is how I’d _prefer_ to spend my time, if I’m bein’ honest,'' Crowley grunted, earning another glancing blow across his jaw. His nerves sang, pain blooming bright and livid, but still not quite as harshly as Crowley had been expecting. He glared down at his feet, confused and suspicious.

And it wasn’t like he _wanted_ this to hurt more, but Crowley was always suspicious when things didn’t go as he expected. There was usually a _reason_ for it, and it was always in his best interest to know what those were. Was Sandy holding back? Why? Luca had been on the verge of death and he couldn’t possibly hate the incubus as much as he hated Crowley.

“I want answers from you, demon,” Sandalphone spat, grabbing Crowley viciously by the chin and forcing him to look at him. This close, Crowley could smell the slightly woody tang of his breath. It was disturbingly pleasant and distantly reminded him of some of the trees in the middle east. Sandalphon had a vaguely coppery scent when he performed his miracles, but the archangel himself seemed to exude this dry forest smell, and damn it if that just wasn’t fair. Crowley knew he had to smell at least a bit like brimstone. It was infused into the very being of each and every one of the Fallen. Seemed the opposite was true of the Host. Despite being a vile, malicious bastard, Sandalphone still had to smell ‘good’. Not fair at all.

“Are you paying attention?” Sandalphone scolded, slapping Crowley across the face before gripping his bruised jaw again with iron fingers. “I asked you if you were ready to answer my questions.”

“Well, I mean, obviously not if I wosn’t answering that one, right?” Crowley smirked, tensing again as another two punches connected hard against his ribs.

“For fuck’s sake, Crowley,” Luca’s voice cut through the pain. “Don’t be a prideful idiot.”

“No no, by all means, please do,” Sandalphone grinned. “Pride is a sin I’d be happy to strip you of, and I admit I’d prefer the opportunity to break you. So please. _Resist_.”

“Oh, well _now_ I’m torn,” Crowley snarked. Sandalphon smiled as he took off his sand coloured jacket, draping it over Luca’s bowed head like a coat hook. Crowley grit his teeth.

“How did you and Aziraphale survive your executions?” the archangel asked, making a dramatic show of rolling up his shirtsleeves. Crowley wanted to snort in derision at the novice intimidation tactic, but decided against it. “What other powers have you two come to possess?” 

“A pretty impressive constitution,” Crowley quipped. “I’m able to be this close to you without vomiting. Stuff of legends, that.”

Having provided Sandalphon with the excuse he was waiting for, the beating finally began in earnest. The archangel’s fists connected painfully against Crowley’s stomach, ribs, face. Over and over and over. Crowley tensed against the assault, unable to bring his arms down, or curl forward to protect himself, and finally he was too exhausted and pained to support himself on the balls of his feet any longer. He hung limply from his wrists as Sandalphon continued to punch his repressed desire for violence into Crowley’s flesh. 

And it _did_ hurt. One blow to his jaw missed its mark and connected with his ear instead, sending a shock of agony through the demon that nearly caused him to black out. He tasted his own blood in his mouth, and his laboured breaths stung as they were drawn resentfully from bruised lungs. And the whole time the beating rained down on him, Crowley was baffled as to why it wasn’t so much worse. 

He had been beaten before. He had been tortured before. Many many many times in fact. Crowley had already been a demon when the world was made 6000 years ago. He had known torments that had lasted eons. And he had felt the ire of his “betters” everytime he failed. 

_My side doesn’t send rude notes,_ he’d told Aziraphale once, amused by the angel’s pouting over a reprimand. Oh he knew how the angel was humiliated and abused in his own way, and it made Crowley’s blood boil to think on it, but Hell’s version of a reprimand tended to involve chains and whips and branding irons.

So while this was far from pleasant, it was also far from the worst Crowley had endured. It crossed his mind to make that fact known, to laugh and spit in the archangel’s face, but still there was the question… _why?_

Finally the flurry of blows relented and Crowley spat and drooled from the bloody ruin of his mouth, swinging from his raw wrists, purpling against their angelic restraints. Sandalphon was smirking down at him, vengeful pride burning in his eyes as he healed his torn knuckles with a lazy snap.

“I suppose that will have to do for now,” he sighed, rolling out his shoulders. “Duty calls. Maybe you’ll feel more cooperative when I get back.”

Crowley watched from his good eye as the angel strode back towards Luca to retrieve his jacket from the floor where it landed after the incubus had apparently shaken it off his head. Sandalphon only smiled at Luca and gave him a demeaning tap on those nose before vanishing through the wall. A moment later their restraints vanished and they both dropped to their knees (although Crowley continued the downward momentum, sprawling painfully onto his side.)

Luca joined him, fussing over his injuries.

“Shaddup,” Crowley swatted at him, trying to struggle his way back to sitting. “I’m fine. Better than I expected to be by half.”

“You’re a mess, Crowley,” Luca cautioned, easing Crowley to rest against the wall. “You might be hurt more than you think.”

“Ugh,” Crowley rolled the eye that wasn’t swollen shut. “Stop fussing, will ya? Just give me a minute.”

Crowley itched to miracle himself better, or at the very least, heal his eye enough to open again, but his powers were still subdued. His body throbbed and ached more profoundly as the adrenaline faded and Crowley felt the pull towards slumber, doing his best to shake it off and think.

“He was holding back,” Crowley muttered. “This should’ve been much worse. Why wos he holding back?”

“He didn’t look to be holding back to me,” Luca whispered. “He looked crazed.”

Crowley frowned and considered that for a moment. What if Sandalphon _hadn’t_ been holding back? The archangel had sucker punched Aziraphale once before, but his angel wasn’t used to such things and was hardly expecting it. And Luca had been in very bad shape, but he was unable to heal his injuries and the worst of his afflictions stemmed from his starvation. Sandalphon was a bully and a bastard but he was also an archangel. All of his violent experience stemmed from smiting, not brute force. Could it be that he just wasn’t very good at it?

Crowley laughed, his breath wheezing through angry lungs. His grin reopened the cut on his lip, bleeding into his mouth again and coating his tongue in copper. Luca frowned at him in concern. 

Poor tender Luca. He was more human than demon in so many ways. He didn’t have nearly the pain tolerance Crowley did, nor the healing factor. His experience revolved around sex and sensuality. He wasn’t a soldier. He’d said it himself. His kind settled scores by “fucking it out”. Even a rubbish torturer could beat someone to death given time and inclination. Crowley would have to keep Sandy’s attention focused on him.

“S’not so bad, Luca,” Crowley assured him. “Next time he comes, you gotta keep yourself quiet and let me take what he gives. I’m used to stuff like this. Rolls right off me.”

Luca sighed and pulled his shirt off over his head, using it to dab at Crowley’s cuts. Crowley hissed at him and swiped the shirt away, but after a moment of glaring to get his point across, he used it to tend to his wounds himself.

“Stubborn,” Luca chided.

“Yep,” Crowley agreed. “Don’t forget it.”

They were silent for a long time, sitting side by side, while Crowley slowly regained his wits. After a while Luca started to sing again, hesitant at first, as though he expected Crowley to snap at him for it. His voice grew more confident when Crowley didn’t object, a lilting wordless melody that comforted Crowley enough to finally yield under the heavy weight of impending slumber.

He woke up some time later, feeling chilled and horribly uncomfortable. There was a disgusting pastiness in his mouth and a sharp crick in his neck. His ribs and jaw ached but the swelling had already begun to go down around his eye. That was one benefit to being one of the Fallen. He healed mundane damage fairly quickly. This was a boon Sandaphon would no doubt be able to use to his advantage too. He groaned, granting himself a moment of self-pity, as he pushed himself back up to sitting.

“You’re looking a bit better,” Luca told him with a gentle smile. Crowley grinned weakly at him in return before groaning again. The incubus rose from where he’d been sitting across the room and joined him, offering him a bottle of water. Crowley took several grateful gulps. He didn’t need the hydration really, but it did clear some of the foul taste from his mouth, and he wasn’t so prideful that he’d refuse any scrap of comfort he could scrounge while imprisoned here.

“Take as much as you want. I get three of these a day, so I can spare it,” Luca told him. Crowley nodded and took another smaller sip this time. So Sandy knew enough to get his pet some water at least. That was good.

“Does he remember to feed you?” Crowley asked and Luca flushed and looked away. Crowley swallowed around another vile lump of rage. “I mean, does he bring you food as well as water? Do you eat?”

“Oh. Yes,” Luca nodded, relieved for a moment before frowning again. “It took awhile for him to figure out what to give me though and it’s still hit or miss.”

“Wot’s that mean?” Crowley growled.

“Well, sometimes it's just protein bars. Sometimes it’s a gourmet meal. Sometimes it's something vile and unrecognizable,” Luca shrugged, then sighed. “Sometimes it's dog kibble, when he wants to make a point.”

“Bastard,” Crowley wanted to burn the bald muppet to a crisp.

“Well, let’s just say I eat as much as I can to survive the times I can’t stomach what he gives out. And before you ask, I get taken to earth to relieve myself twice a day, so by all means, take whatever water you want. I have to be careful about how much I drink.”

“That’s when you’d try to contact me?” Crowley asked, wincing in embarrassment at failing to notice Luca’s message. “When you were brought down to Earth to piss?”

Luca looked embarrassed and Crowley frowned at him in confusion. What did he have to be embarrassed about? It was just biology.

“I wanted to _warn you_ ,” Luca told him. “My _intention_ was to tell you to stay away, that archangel was after you. But I never seemed to be taken down when you were sleeping. When I finally was able to get a message to you I…” Luca looked away, ashamed. “All I could think about was getting out of here. I didn’t warn you. I played right into his hands and even that didn’t matter because…” he trailed off, a flash of wounded anger playing across his pale eyes before Luca schooled his features into resigned apathy.

Crowley sighed, drawing his knees up and hunkering down over them. He knew all too well what Luca had been about to say. He’d tried to call for help, but when Crowley’s brain got the message of ‘lover in trouble’ it supplied Crowley with the image of Aziraphale instead of Luca. And Luca had been too weak to override Crowley’s subconscious, and had to see his plea for help get twisted and made meaningless while simultaneously cruelly slapping him in the face with Crowley’s affection for the angel.

“That couldn’t have been easy,” Crowley grumbled. He didn’t want to apologize for it though. It wasn’t like Crowley had done it on purpose. He’d been asleep! And if loving Aziraphale was something he had even the slightest bit of control over he would have stopped doing it ages ago!

“I just don’t understand _why?_ ” Luca exclaimed bitterly. “I know you don’t feel that way about me, and okay, fine. But why _him_ ? Why an _angel_?”

“Couldn’t explain how it started,” Crowley sighed. “Just always have, since the beginning.”

“But he’s an angel! Not just any angel either. He’s a principality!” Luca objected, building up steam. “Aren’t they _worse_ than archangels? Because I gotta say, I’m definitely not a fan of fucking archangels.”

Crowley took a breath and forced himself not to lash out in Aziraphale’s defense as was his instinct. Luca had been terrified of angels his whole life, and afraid of Aziraphale in particular since he made Soho his territory. If the district hadn’t been such a lush hunting ground, the incubus would have scurried away as soon as he felt Aziraphale’s immense aura. And honestly, as far as Crowley could tell, Luca’s assessment was pretty spot on when it came to literally every other member of the heavenly host. How was he to know that Aziraphale was different?

“Principalities can be more powerful than many of the archangels. Not too many of those Host can outgun Gabriel or Michael, mind you.” Crowley answered carefully. He’d never had to see Aziraphale fight, and if his fussy beautiful angel knew how to use his considerable power against one of his former brethren, Crowley honestly had no idea how he would measure up. He felt his hands tremble at the mere thought. “Aziraphale’s one of a kind though. He’s better than the lot of them.”

“I hope you’re right,” Luca spat. “For your sake.”

“Can’t imagine you’ve met many of the Fallen,” Crowley hissed, finally getting annoyed by Luca’s continued whining. “You met _Hastur_ though, yeah? Wot did you think of him? Feel a kinship with your fellow demon?” Luca glared at him, but Crowley felt his footing on rare moral high ground and pressed on. “Did you see a duke of Hell and think _‘ah, there’s a bloke I could trust to have my back in a crisis.’ Soooo much better than an angel, this one’._ ”

“I’d say _on par_ with an angel, really,” Luca snapped back. “ _I_ wouldn’t be stupid enough to trust either one.”

“Ahhh, but you trusted _me_ , Crowley sneered. “ _I’m_ Fallen, or did you forget?”

“You’re not— “ Luca began, outraged. Crowley watched him flounder for lack of an argument, because Crowley was Fallen. Because even demons weren’t black and white. And if it could be a complicated mess of various greys for _Crowley_ …

“I spent most of my existence as a demon on Earth,” Crowley told Luca firmly. “And Aziraphale did the same for most of his existence as an angel. Each of us pulling at each other as much as humanity. He tugged me a little further away from the chaos of Hell, I suppose, and I did the same to him in the opposite direction.”

“Clearly,” Luca snorted. “You’re _not_ just some demon of Hell, Crowley.”

“Why’s that? Because you _love_ me?” Crowley scoffed.

“Because you’re _immune to fucking Holy Water!_ ” Luca shouted and Crowley actually cringed. Luca was staring at him now, all the fury falling away and leaving him helpless. “I _do_ love you, Crowley. So please… when the archangel comes back, please just… tell him what he wants to know.”

“Uhhh… I’m sorry, wot?” Crowley whispered, eyes wide with shock. He knew Luca was tired and afraid, but had he actually been broken?

“He and Hastur were commiserating about not being able to hurt either of you,” Luca continued quickly, his eyes pleading. “All of this is pretense. He means to keep you for a while, and take his pound of flesh, sure, but he can’t destroy you. He’s not even allowed to discorporate you! He’s going to have to release you eventually.”

Crowley blinked, feeling his bruised and bloody lips curl into a smile. This was personal then. Sandalphon wasn’t working with Heaven’s backing. No wonder they were stuck in this little heavenly pocket dimension instead of Heaven proper. No wonder he hadn’t seen Gabriel’s sarcastic grin or Michael’s angry glare. 

“Crowley, listen to me,” Luca pleaded, scooting in front of him so Crowley would look at him. “You and Aziraphale are _safe_ . They can’t do anything with the information. He just wants to know how you did it. Just tell him and _maybe he’ll let us go!_ ”

Crowley frowned, his heart sinking. Luca didn’t know the whole thing was a parlour trick and that if Heaven and Hell found out, whatever immunity they’d been granted would probably be revoked real quick.

“I can’t,” he admitted. “I can’t trust them not to go after Aziraphale. I can’t even trust them to obey their orders. They’re supposed to leave us alone, and instead look at where we are!”

Luca stared at him, the hope fading from his eyes. Crowley knew that if Luca ever made it out of this he was probably going to hate him for a very long time.

“What was it like, when my obsession powers got their hooks in you?” Luca asked finally, his voice pitched low and quiet. Crowley shivered and inched away slightly, shooting the incubus an incredulous look.

“Are you intentionally being a suspicious prat?” Crowley growled back.

“Would you stop being an arsehole for a minute?” Luca growled back. “I need to know if you were lying about being affected to make me feel better.”

“Wosn’t lying, no,” Crowley responded slowly, still confused by the sudden topic change. “Must’ve let my guard down while we were… you know. Let your abilities slip in and take hold.”

“But they _did_ take hold?” Luca asked, looking almost desperate again. “Were you _actually_ under my thrall until I snapped you out of it?”

“Oh, am I supposed to be _grateful_ ?” Crowley barked, furious. “Is _that_ wot this is? You’re mad at me so you want to shove _that_ in my face?"

“Crowley, stop it,” Luca whispered harshly. “If I can enthrall one of the Fallen then maybe I can do it to an archangel.”

Crowley blinked, stunned. Luca was considering using his abilities on Sandalphon?! He swallowed thickly and struggled to get past the initial revulsion to consider this plan. Truthfully, Luca’s ability had completely snuck up on him, distracting him with pleasure while it took root in his brain, and then it had all happened rather quickly. Luca was all he could think about, all he wanted. 

“I was still me,” Crowley cautioned. “Your power didn’t cancel my own. But I felt _fully_ obsessed with you.”

Luca nodded, clearly not seeing the massive red flags in that statement. “Do you think I could do it?”

“Maybe,” Crowley admitted. Luca’s power _had_ felt very strong. Maybe he would have been fine up against Soleil after all. “But I don’t think you _should._ ”

“Why not?” Luca asked seriously. Crowley forced himself to take another calming breath and not throttle the idiot.

“It might not take right away, for one,” Crowley told him. “Archangel’s have got to be somewhat resistant to demonic forces.”

“When they’re up against a demon, sure,” Luca shrugged. “But I doubt he’s got his guard up when he thinks he’s fucking me into submission.”

“Jesus, Luca,” Crowley hissed. He hated how glib the other demon was being about this.

“It's better than the beatings,” Luca told him gently. “I can’t take the pain. I’m not strong enough. _This_ I can do. It doesn’t _have_ to work the first time. I know he lets his guard down. I can do it in stages. I can just… I can build it up until I get some control. I only need it to last long enough to make him let us go.”

“Luca, no.” Crowley shook his head firmly, then winced as the motion caused a cascade of woozy pain to flood his senses. He blinked until his senses cleared. Luca was still watching him, solemnly waiting for a good reason to abort his fool plan.

“You don’t want someone like that _obsessed_ with you,” Crowley told him. “We’ll find another way.”

Luca pressed his lips together, but didn’t argue. He reached over and gingerly took his shirt back. Crowley released it, surprised that he’d still had it clutched in his spare hand this whole time.

“ _Dominie_ said I had to stay covered up until he says otherwise,” Luca explained flatly, pulling the shirt back over his head. Spots of Crowley’s blood marred the pristine whiteness as the shirt fell into place over Luca’s chest. “Keep the water,” he added as he got to his feet and drifted back to his spot across the cell.

Crowley growled in frustration and grumbled a flurry of curses against Luca, Sandalphon, and Heaven in general. When he finished grumbling he found himself feeling overwhelmed by the heavy silence. Luca wasn’t singing. A glance at the incubus showed he wasn’t likely going to be in the mood to sing any time soon. He’d turned somewhat away from Crowley, but he could see the wetness in Luca’s hopeless eyes as he stared ahead into the white nothingness of their cell.

“We’ll find another way,” Crowley repeated firmly. “We’ll get out of this, Luca. I promise.”

He thought he saw the incubus shrug, but the motion was abruptly cut off as once again the demons were painfully yanked to their feet, their hands suspended overhead by invisible shackles. Sandalphon appeared from a different direction this time, and he looked greatly annoyed.

“Useless bloody staff meetings!” the archangel complained. “Honestly, absolutely no one enjoys the sound of Gabriel’s voice nearly as much as he does. He just goes on and on. Absolutely nothing was said that couldn’t have been put in a memo.”

He punctuated his frustration with a stunning blow to Crowley’s solar plexus. Crowley would have doubled over had the restraints allowed it. Instead he grunted painfully, twisting as much as he could in a vain attempt to protect himself from further attack. He’d had worse, he reminded himself. But that didn’t mean it felt nice.

“I don’t even know why I had to be there,” Sandalphon continued to complain, pacing the room. “It had nothing to do with my department. Waste of time!” He rounded on Crowley again, his little dark eyes glittering with malice, arm raised to strike, but he hesitated for a moment before grumbling tiredly. “Lost my momentum,” he muttered.

“Aww,” Crowley mock pouted at him. “Did the ickle archangel’s bloodlust get derailed?”

“Oh, this dip in interest is temporary, I assure you,” Sandalphon smirked. “After all, bloodlust is but one of my new appetites.”

Crowley was about to suggest that he’d heard enough about Sandalphon to know that his bloodlust was hardly _new,_ but the archangel had already walked off to stand before Luca. The incubus flinched when Sandalphon began carding fingers through his thick black hair, but kept his eyes submissively cast downwards.

“You know, this _is_ relaxing,” the archangel mused with a little happy smile as he continued to pet Luca. Crowley hissed, barely catching himself before he launched into a bitter tirade against the perverted celestial. He wasn’t supposed to be letting on that he cared. Holding back his incredulous fury became immensely more difficult when the archangel slid his hand down Luca’s cheek before pulling his jaw open and slipping his thumb into his mouth.

“Now _heel_ ,” Sandalphon commanded, taking his hand away and snapping his fingers in front of Luca’s face. Luca flinched, a frightened whimper escaping his throat, obvious expecting something painful. Instead, his arms dropped to his sides as the restraints holding his wrists seemed to vanish. And a shiny gold collar appeared around his neck, connecting him to the smug archangel via a shimmering leash.

“Come,” Sandalphon ordered, before walking through the wall. The leash tugged and Luca was propelled into motion. He looked back over his shoulder at Crowley before following Sandalphon through the wall, and for once, Crowley wasn’t able to read those expressive pale eyes at all.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooooof!
> 
> This is about midway through the climax of the story. There's gonna be at least one more nasty chapter ahead before things get better, but I promise they'll get better.
> 
> Your kudos give me the side-eye.  
> Your comments hold me to that promise.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things just seem to keep getting worse for the demons stuck in Heaven. Back on Earth, Aziraphale realizes something is wrong and goes looking for Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Physical violence/torture. Blood. I don't think it is especially horribly graphic compared to somethings I've read, but also understand that I'm a monster and maybe my metric isn't the same as everyone's. Click "more notes" of you want some spoiler-y non-graphic deets on what to expect.
> 
> CW: Implied non-con, (off screen)
> 
> This is (probably) the last of the torture chapters (yay!).

Time never moved at a reliable speed for Crowley. Decades could fly by in the blink of an eye, while some days would bloody drag on for centuries. He figured it was probably the same for most if not all immortal beings. Being trapped in a featureless white cube certainly didn’t  _ help  _ matters. Crowley’s complicated watch, on the other hand, helped quite a bit. He’d been imprisoned there for six days. Hadn’t even been a week yet! Aziraphale likely wouldn’t notice his absence for at least a couple  _ months _ . He wouldn’t be looking for him.

This was becoming a worse problem now that Sandalphon seemed to be getting a bit better at whole torture thing. He’d quickly moved on from beatings to flogging, and while that still didn’t even budge up against what had been inflicted on Crowley in the past, it was definitely a bloody  _ problem _ .

“Answer me,” Sandalphon snarled, his breath coming heavy against Crowley’s ear. Whipping demons really seemed to take it out of the archangel. He clearly wasn’t ready for the cardio. Crowley bit the inside of his cheek and managed not to say those thoughts out loud. 

“I already told you,” Crowley seethed, gritting his teeth against the flaring pain in his back. “Must have been Her  _ divine will _ or something. Just know we can’t be destroyed, and it feels to me like it might be a huge mistake for someone to try.”

Sandalphon growled in frustration and Crowley barely had time to flinch before the lash came down across his hip this time. The agony tore out of his throat in an anguished cry before Crowley could stifle it. Another strike fell across the back of his thighs, ripping through his jeans and spattering more of his blood against the wall behind him. On and on it went as the demon muffled his screams against his arm. Crowley’s legs gave out for the third time today and he hung painfully suspended by his invisible shackles, his feet dragging uselessly through smears of blood on the shiny white floor. There seemed to be quite a lot of it. 

“Ssspeaking of missstakes,” Crowley quipped weakly as soon as Sandalphon took another breather. “Didn’t I hear that you were ordered not to discorporate me? Blood loss might be something to keep in mind. Why don’t we pick this up next week. Give a bloke a chance to recover a bit, eh? Can’t we be sporting about this?”

“Thank you for the reminder,” Sandalphon responded wryly. Crowley winced, ready for another blow but the archangel walked back into view in time for him to see the whip vanish into the ether. 

“Anytime,” Crowley groaned, forcing himself to grin defiantly. He suspected he merely looked manic.

“I have other duties to perform,” Sandalphon told him, visibly trying to calm himself. The balding angel took a breath and clicked his fingers, cleaning his sand coloured suit of blood spatter. “You needn’t worry about discorporating, demon,” Sandy told him with a disturbing smile. “I’m more than capable of undoing any damage I’ve inflicted on your scrawny corporation. After all, mercy is a holy virtue.”

He clicked his fingers again and Crowley’s spine instantly twisted and froze as ice cold electricity swam through his every cell. Out of everything he had endured in here  _ this _ was a hundred times worse. Divine healing magic ripped through his infernal body, knitting it back together, but it felt like Crowley was being torn apart. His jaw opened, unhinged, opened wider still to make room for a scream that would not come. His lungs wouldn’t inflate. There was no air to make sound. 

And then it was over. The agony ceased leaving nothing but a shivery coldness in his marrow. Crowley sucked in a desperate breath and his vision swam and spotted over as he nearly blacked out from sheer relief.

“Isn’t that better?” Sandalphon jeered. Crowley managed to find enough strength to glare at him, but the Archangel had already turned away. He stopped before Luca and carded his fingers through his thick hair. “Be good, Wolfie. I’ll be back later to take you for some exercise.” Luca turned his face away, glaring at the floor, and said nothing. The silence extended for a few minutes after Sandalphon left and their restraints had vanished. They hadn’t spoken much for a while. Luca seemed to become cowed rather quickly by Crowley’s beatings. Crowley glared at the incubus. He was doing everything he could to protect Luca, and the ungrateful sod would barely look at him!

“How’s that plan to enthrall the archangel going?” Crowley rasped, funneling his anguish into sarcasm, as usual. “From wot I can tell it’s going  _ suuuuuper  _ well.”

“I’m working on it,” Luca muttered.

“Then you’re a flaming idiot!” Crowley snapped. “I  _ told  _ you I can handle this. I’m trying to keep his attention  _ off  _ you, Luca. You’re undermining my heroic sacrifice here!”

“You can’t come up with a plan while you’re being flogged, Crowley,” Luca argued. “You need a reprieve more than I do.”

“I’m immortal, Luca,” Crowley reminded him. “You’re not. Last thing I want is for you to die!”

“Bullshit,” Luca snorted. “The last thing you want is for  _ Aziraphale  _ to die. All of this is about protecting the  _ angel _ !”

The accusation landed like a slap, but Crowley had endured far worse injury recently to to flinch at that. It only felt as badly as it did because it happened to be true. His every word and action had been first run through a filter to ensure it wouldn’t jeopardize Aziraphale. That didn’t mean he wasn’t trying.

“Fine. The  _ second  _ last thing I want is for you to die,” Crowley amended with forced patience. “And I’m not not exactly loving the idea of you being the arsehole’s pet incubus, even  _ if  _ that stopped him tormenting me. Which it  _ won’t,  _ by the way. You’re debasing yourself for  _ nothing! _ ”

Luca laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant laugh. “Debasing myself!” he chuckled coldly. “Do you seriously think this is my first go at being someone’s toy?”

Crowley’s hurt anger bled out of him and took a good helping of his strength with it. He slid down the wall and sat dejectedly. “I don’t know. I’d hope so,” he offered quietly. He’d never bothered to wonder about Luca’s past before meeting up with him in 1967.

“How do you think most of us start out once we grow past being fed by our parent?” Luca asked, incredulous. “It's  _ dangerous  _ for a young incubus. I was lucky I had a good mom. She sold me to this wealthy gentleman as a  _ pet _ .”

Crowley looked up at him sharply, trying to reconcile “sold as a pet” with “good mom”, but Luca didn’t leave him wondering for long. “I had shelter, all the lust I could eat, and he had a taste for music so he was happy to pay for me to learn to play for him. It was the very definition of a gilded cage and it was the best one of us could hope for. I’ve  _ been  _ a toy, Crowley. I can be a toy again if I have to be.”

Crowley’s guts twisted, unable to prevent himself from picturing the young demon eagerly learning piano between...

“And my plan hasn’t failed,” Luca grumbled. “It just hasn’t taken hold yet. _ I’m working on it _ .”

That was the last either of them had to say for several more hours until Sandalphon, true to his word, returned to take Luca away. 

Crowley sat alone and tried not to think about the passage of time. The watch was no longer a boon. It didn’t help to know how long he was trapped there. All that mattered was that he was alone in the void. He’d found Luca’s silence infuriating, but Crowley much preferred sharing the silence with someone, than not. He forced himself not to look at the device until Luca came back. That’s when he discovered Luca had been gone for eight hours. 

Crowley stared at the incubus, taking in the bruises around his wrists and throat. Eight hours! And Sandalphon was clearly getting rougher. Luca might have been right after all. Sandalphon was beginning to lose control. He was also now forced to wear a thin golden collar and cuffs at all times.

“It’s a good sign,” Luca told him, but Crowley suspected the other demon was trying to convince himself of that. He looked grimly determined, but he no longer looked hopeful.

The following day Sandy came back with a new toy, but this one was clearly meant for Crowley. The long thick cane glowed almost white with radiance. Crowley eyed it fearfully, trying to back away as Sandalphon advanced on him, but he remained held securely in place by the invisible shackles overhead.

“I had a spark of inspiration,” Sandy grinned, waving the tip of the cane under Crowley’s nose. He could feel the cold bite of holy power even an inch away from his flesh. This was going to be very bad. He glanced at Luca, across the room and similarly bound with his arms overhead. Luca was struggling now. He was shouting something at Sandalphon, begging, maybe. Crowley couldn’t seem to hear him over the sound of his heart drumming in his ears. Luca was weeping.

After a few strokes of the holy cane, Crowley was weeping too. After a few more days of repeated canings, he was no longer quipping back. Another week and Crowley was no longer certain he wouldn’t be better off in Hell after all.

  
  


*****

Aziraphale was already in hot water with Crowley. He knew he should be very careful about doing anything that would make the demon even more furious with him. He should most certainly not be bringing a human into Crowley’s penthouse. This was a completely outrageous breach of trust, he knew, but desperate times and all that...

“I’m not sure if I’ll be able to find anything,” Anathema turned a full circle in the centre of the sitting room, taking in details of the room. “Crowley lives  _ here _ ?” she added with a note of doubt. 

“It is where he sleeps. Some of the time at least,” Aziraphale replied. “And I share your assessment that the flat is far from homey, but honestly my dear, now’s hardly the time.”

Aziraphale had waited his self-imposed fortnight before calling on Crowley only to find that he wasn’t home. Some of his fussier plants were wilting for want of care, suggesting the demon hadn’t been home for some time. The coffee cup sitting on the counter was a more disturbing clue. He remembered it all too well considering how often he’d gone over every detail of his last encounter with Crowley in his mind. He’d hardly managed to think of anything else for the two weeks!

Crowley had left nearly immediately after their falling out, and he hadn’t even bothered to miracle away his cup. Aziraphale had searched for the demon in all his usual haunts to no avail. He was quickly running out of ideas, which is what led him to seek advice from Tadfield’s resident witch.

“Anything you can do, dear,” Aziraphale murmured, gesturing vaguely about the room. “His energy is probably strongest here. If you could please just try?”

Anathema gave him a tight anxious frown to match his own tight anxious smile but she nodded and extended her left arm before her. She opened her hand and a pendulum dropped into place, suspended from between her fingers. Aziraphale held his breath and focused on being quiet and unobtrusive. He dearly hoped this worked. He didn’t know what to try next otherwise. He was getting terribly worried at this point. Something had clearly happened to his demon. Oh, he knew it wasn’t  _ impossible  _ that Crowley had run off for a while for some space, but considering how they’d left things, he figured Crowley would at least have left a note. 

“Wow,” Anathema blinked open wide brown eyes and adjusted her glasses with her free hand. “The energy is definitely strong here,” she agreed. “If he were on Earth, I think I’d have gotten a pretty good picture of his location but —”

“He’s not on Earth?!” Aziraphale nearly shrieked. Anathema flinched at his loud exclamation of panic, her eyes even wider now.

“I mean… can’t you both just… Uh… isn’t—”

“Crowley would not return to Hell willingly, I assure you,” Aziraphale told her. “Are you quite sure he’s not just somewhere quite far? South America perhaps?

“He’s not anywhere I can dowse,” Anathema told him. “I’m afraid my powers don’t extend beyond Earth.”

“Blast!” Aziraphale swore. He thanked the young woman —no sense in being rude— and sent her home before his panic grew too great for him to manage the miracle safely. 

Crowley wasn’t on Earth. 

“Sandalphon,” he growled to himself, remembering the hench-goon of an archangel’s smarmy grin. He’d been curious about Crowley, hadn’t he? Ooh! That… that…  _ Sandalphon! _

Aziraphale was not looking forward to making another trip up to Heaven. He’d done as good a job as he could manage to not even think about Heaven since they tried to murder him. Walking into that building and demanding answers would have been out of the question. Which likely made it all the more surprising when Aziraphale looked up from his stewing to find himself standing before a clean marble kiosk with a petrified secretarial angel looking at him while repeatedly pressing a red button on their desk.

“Oh!” Aziraphale said, feeling rather panicked himself but knowing he ought to be saying something at the moment. “Hello. I am Principality—”

“Aziraphale!” came a booming voice to his right. Aziraphale deflated automatically, an instantaneous reaction born from eons of humiliation by that voice.

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale greeted the archangel tightly. 

“What are you doing here?” Gabriel asked with forced politeness. His smile was wide and as false as it always was, although Aziraphale thought he caught a glimpse of fear in those violet eyes.

“Where is Crowley?” Aziraphale demanded, emboldened by that moment of weakness, no matter how brief, and by his overwhelming need to see the demon safely returned as soon as possible.

“You’re up here looking for a demon?” Gabriel laughed, but he looked genuinely confused. “I think you’d be better served casting your net a little lower.”

“Sandalphon was on Earth asking questions about Crowley, and now he’s missing from Earth,” Aziraphale retorted coldly. He wouldn’t let Gabriel intimidate him. Not over this. “What is heaven plotting? You were supposed to be leaving us be!”

“Heaven isn’t plotting anything against you or the Serpent,” Gabriel snorted as if such things were beneath him. As if he hadn’t been involved in a plot to kill them both quite recently. “If he’s not on Earth then he’s probably gotten himself discorporated.”

“I’m expected to believe this is all coincidental?” Aziraphale huffed, crossing his arms angrily.

“Don’t particularly care what you believe, Sunshine,” Gabriel answered smoothly. “You’re more than welcome to go try your luck Below, but, and I can’t stress this enough, you’re not welcome here.”

As much as it pained Aziraphale to admit it, that was pretty much that. Gabriel might as well have been an impenetrable wall between the principality and the rest of Heaven. He had no choice but to accept the archangel’s word that Heaven wasn’t behind Crowley’s disappearance (as much as he despised Gabriel, he wasn’t a liar) and return to Earth peacefully. The sun was setting when he trudged back to the welcoming warmth of the bookshop. It was going to be a very long night.

*****

Luca had been gone for days and Crowley was coming to the uncomfortable realization that he didn’t enjoy being alone. One would think he’d have had plenty of opportunities to discover this about himself by now, and yet here he was, surprised and quietly horrified by the epiphany. It would have been bad luck for a demon to find himself unable to tolerate his own company under the best of circumstances but here, where an enemy was looking for ways to torture him without actually killing him, it seemed particularly disastrous.

He’d removed his watch and tossed it across the cell to avoid checking it constantly. Knowing the time, finding less had passed than he’d thought, was worse than not knowing at all. Five days alone in a white void and Crowley was already being driven spare. It felt like months, alone with his guilt. Then to see it hadn’t even been alone a week! Insulting was what it was.

When Luca finally stumbled through the wall of his cell, Crowley had been elated to see him. He wasn’t  _ dead _ . Crowley wasn’t  _ alone _ . Then he got a better look at his friend and the dark thoughts that had been whispering to him all this time suggested he might indeed be alone very soon.

Luca was pale, clearly exhausted, throat and wrists were bruised, a dark plum stain under the golden collar and cuffs. His top lip was torn.

“Your lip,” Crowley whispered, unable to find a single other useful thing to say. Luca surreptitiously touched the injury with his fingertips and tried to cover his wince with a shrug.

“Yeah, It’s fine,” he laughed weakly. “Just a little bite. Pretty sure  _ you’ve  _ done worse.”

“Anything I did, I  _ healed _ ,” Crowley exclaimed, horrified. 

“I’d prefer he  _ not  _ heal me,” Luca growled and Crowley failed to suppress his shudder at the excruciating memory of repeated angelic healings. “I’ve reminded him I’ll need to actually feed soon. What’s wrong with your watch?” Luca added, changing the subject as he scooped up the watch. Crowley glared at it for lack of anything better to glare at.

“Take it with you when you get taken next time,” Crowley grumbled. “S’not doing anything for  _ me  _ but making me crazy. Don’t need the temptation to stare at it.” 

Luca put the watch in the pocket of his white joggers then looked at him for a long time. He seemed maybe sad? Or just tired and hungry? It was getting harder and harder to tell and Crowley used to be able to read the incubus so well.

“The bastard did that  _ with his teeth? _ ” Crowley snarled, unable to let it go anymore.

“Why? Is it bad?” Luca frowned, covering his mouth with his hand. That didn’t help. It only drew Crowley’s attention to his plum-stained wrists. Crowley’s impotent fury was growing by the second.

“Your plan is backfiring,” Crowley spat. “You  _ see  _ that, right? Sandy’s taking you for days at a time. He’s losing control of himself.”

Luca glowered at him, his very presence darkening in the pristine white cell. “At least I have a plan,” he hissed. “It might be a shite one but what have you come up with aside from quipping until Dominie beats you senseless?”

_ ‘Got any better ideas?’  _ asked Aziraphale’s voice in his memory.  _ ‘Got one single better idea?’ _

And to think there was a time, long before Armageddon, when Crowley had considered himself wily and clever. 

Crowley felt a powerful sulk coming on but it would have to wait. Luca let out a low whine as he was forced against the wall by Sandalphon’s magic, his arms firmly pulled overhead. Crowley at least had that much warning before he was pulled into the centre of the cell, similarly suspended by his wrists.

“And on and on it goes,” he muttered.

“Good luck,” Luca told him. It was what Luca said every time. It never brought Crowley any damn luck. 

White hot agony lanced through his shoulder as Sandlaphon emerged from the wall behind him and struck with the cane. Crowley knew better than to swallow his pained cry. Pride didn’t matter here. The second blow connected brutally across his hip hard enough to crack bone. Holy energy scorched his skin, burning deep into his infernal tissue even as the cane was drawn back for the next strike.

“Dominie!” Luca cried. “Stop!”

Crowley raised his head, wild eyed as Sandalphon turned towards the incubus. Luca was doing his best to look in control while magically chained to a wall. Crowley had to give him points for managing not to tremble while he held the archangel’s gaze.

“You look stressed, Dominie,” Luca purred. “Come tell me about your day.”

Crowley felt his jaw drop as Sandalphon took a few steps towards Luca. Somehow, even half starved, the incubus was managing to look alluring. 

“You wild beautiful thing,” Sandalphon growled and Crowley nearly vomited on his shoes.

_ No _ . Luca wasn’t going to be the one doing the sacrifice play. Crowely was one of the  _ Fallen _ , for Satan’s sake. He could take a beating. Luca could sit this round out.

“Whew! Lilith’s tits, that’s a relief,” Crowley barked at Sandalphon’s back, his smirk reappearing for the first time in days. He forced the smile, teeth bared in defiance, knowing he was too exhausted to maintain the act for long. His spine ached from the effort it took to avoid shaking in fear. “Dunno which is worse. The beating or that hairline.”

Sandalphon froze and turned around slowly. Luca tossed Crowley a clear _ ‘what the fuck are you doing?’ _ look over the archangel’s shoulder. Good. He could read the incubus again.

“Excuse me, demon?” Sandalphon threatened, running the tip of the cane down the side of Crowley’s face. The holy magic crackled and raised a line of welts over his skin.

“Strongly doubt there’s an excuse for you, you self-important pigeon,” Crowley seethed through the pain. “I may be a demon, but you’ve got to be the  _ worst  _ of God’s mistakes!”

Crowley had wanted to take the archangel’s attention off Luca and  _ by golly _ he was successful! Sandalphon let fly with the cane until Crowley could no longer distinguish the sharp agony of splintered bone from the pervasive icy burns melting his flesh. He tasted blood in his throat, heard the death rattle in his collapsed chest.

_ Oh you fucked up _ , he thought as he readied himself for discorporation. Hell was going to be so much worse for him, but at least he could feel better knowing Sandy was going to get raked over the coals for killing him.

A fresh wave of intense cold spread through him, and it was almost pleasant at first, his injuries were so severe. But then it grew colder, bitingly cold and Crowley screamed as his bones began to knit back together. Sandalphon was grinning, his gold tooth gleaming. It was all Crowley could see until he could no longer see at all.

Water splashed across his tongue, cool and clean. Crowley swallowed reflexively, his raw throat begging for relief, the copper tang of blood fading as more fresh water flooded his mouth. He swallowed again, swimming through the lifting fog towards consciousness. There was music— a voice? — a wordless melody calling him from the deep. Crowley moaned, some dark fear scratching its way across the comfort offered by that gentle hummed song. He didn’t want to wake up. It was safer to sleep. Find a good place to hide, stay quiet and still until the danger passed.

Another mouthful of water. Crowley spluttered this time, coughed spasmodically and lurched in Luca’s lap. Adrenaline flooded in at once, his heart hammering a bruise against his ribs. 

“Easy, love,” Luca whispered. “Take the water. I don’t know how much time we have.”

“Wot happened?!” Crowley asked, leftover panic making his voice shaky and shrill. He glanced around their cell, his mouth open to scent the room. They were alone. Luca offered him the bottle of water again and Crowley took it and downed the whole thing, desperate for something, anything, to ground him as the adrenaline slowly faded. 

“I thought for sure he wos gonna discorporate me this time,” Crowley growled. It came out as a sob. 

“I think he almost did,” Luca whispered, kissing his hair as Crowley clung to him and cried like a child. It’s just the adrenaline and the exhaustion, he told himself. He’d get it out of his system and he’d be fine. His cheeks burned in humiliation though as he tried and failed to stop the blubbering and tears. He was a demon! Not just some weak-blooded imp either, but a proper demon! He wasn’t meant to be sobbing in the arms of an incubus of all things because of a nasty beating or twenty.

“SsssSorry,” he hissed when the sobbing finally dwindled to shivering sniffles. “M’ffffine now.”

“Don’t give up,” Luca pleaded, trying to dry Crowley’s tear-drenched face with his hands. “It’s working, Crowley. I got him to stop. My plan might actually work!”

Crowley told himself he knew better than to grasp at faint hope, then had to roll his eyes at himself. Who was he kidding? That's all he ever did! He’d plunge into just about any ridiculously stupid situation clinging to the thinnest shred of optimism. Luca’s words were a sorely needed balm at the moment and he finally lifted his eyes to look up at the incubus, silently begging him to be right about this. Luca’s smile was beautiful even with the torn lip. 

“It was looking bad and I kinda panicked,” Luca laughed weakly. “Must have hit the monster with a boatload of lust because I got him to lay off you.”

“Wot did he do t’ you?” Crowley whimpered. He was supposed to be protecting Luca. This was all wrong.

“Nothing. He just left,” Luca laughed again, even more strained this time. Obviously he’d also assumed it would end badly for him to do this and was anxiously bemused it did not. “I guess I’ve built up enough obsessive groundwork that I can assert at least a bit of control over him. If I can do it again when you’re able to move, we can use this to escape.”

Crowley smiled weakly and hugged Luca as the incubus nuzzled his neck. As far as plans went this was pretty flimsy. They had no idea if Luca could control Sandalphon again, let alone for how long. They had no idea where exactly they were and how to get back to Earth. They had no way to be sure the archangel wouldn’t snap them up again in minutes and destroy Luca in a rage. He gripped his friend tighter and they held each other fiercely, each trying to guard the other from the horror of their situation.

And now that his mind was beginning to clear and he could think easier Crowley was beginning to wonder if Luca had  _ really  _ asserted his will over the bastard, or merely distracted him. He hoped he was wrong. He was wrong about a lot of things. He  _ could  _ be wrong about this. It would be nice to be wrong about this.

He wasn’t wrong.

No sooner had Luca buried his nose again in Crowley’s hair than the incubus was removed from his grasp. The force pulling Luca backwards was slow and gentle, but inescapable. Luca fought against it anyway, reaching for Crowley, but Crowley knew better than to reach back. Once Luca was fully out of reach, Crowley found himself yanked back into position. His manipulation wasn’t smooth or gentle. He cried out as his shoulder dislocated, but bit back his pained moan when Sandalphon entered the room, advancing on him immediately.

“Leave him alone,” Luca ordered, his low voice firm and authoritative, despite the gleaming collar around his neck. Sandalphon froze, his lips twisting in a sick smile that chilled Crowley to the marrow before turning back to Luca and pursing his lips affectionately. 

“Oh that is adorable, my pet,” the archangel cooed, stroking Luca’s hair while the incubus blinked at him in confusion. “Who’s a big bad wolfie?” Sandalphon baby-talked, scratching Luca under the chin. “My silly thing.”

Luca’s pale blue eyes flicked towards Crowley in alarm, before quickly reverting to Sandalphon as the archangel continued to fuss over him, clicking his tongue in distaste.

“Look at the state of you,” he sighed, unfastening the collar to look at the deep bruises on Luca’s throat. He took Luca’s hands in his and the golden cuffs vanished so Sandalphon could kiss the livid marks on his wrists. “You need a meal, don’t you? I’ve been a terrible master. Look at that poor lip.”

“Yes please, Dominie,” Luca stammered, glancing at Crowley again. He could guess Luca’s thinking. If Crowley were to be ordered to fuck Luca back to health, then at least  _ maybe  _ he’d be left alone for a bit. Crowley frowned and shook his head slightly. He’d seen the look in Sandalphon’s eyes before on countless evil humans over the millennia. Luca’s plan had indeed worked in the worst possible way. The archangel was obsessed with his toy. He wasn’t about to share it with a demon.

“Perhaps Crowley could—” Luca began, cutting off with a sharp gasp when Sandalphon stopped carding his fingers through his hair and gripped it firmly instead.

“No. He  _ never  _ touches you again,” the archangel snarled, his eyes glowing with holy wrath. Luca tried to shrink away in fright, but his head was firmly held in place. “You will take your fill from a  _ human  _ and return to me. No celestial will ever touch you but  _ me _ .”

Crowley blinked in surprise at the mention of humans and held his breath. Luca went very still.

“You’re… sending me to Earth?” Luca asked anxiously, eyes downcast. “Please don’t hurt anyone to feed me. I can find a dream. I just need some time!”

“I can’t have you getting sick, can I?” Sandalphon asked sweetly. “You’re much too precious to me. But don’t worry about the humans. You can feed off them however you like. While I couldn’t stand to watch one with you, _ I _ fortunately have plenty to keep me occupied up here.” He said that last bit with a meaningful look at Crowley that turned the demon’s knees into soup.

“I’m going  _ alone? _ ” Luca breathed. Sandalphon looked at him again and smiled.

“Afraid to be without me, Wolfie?” he teased, ruffling Luca’s hair before once again grabbing a handful of it and giving him a firm shake. “Or maybe you’re hoping this is your chance to escape?”

“No… I…” Luca licked his lips nervously. “Please… I need to feed soon, Dominie. I wasn’t going to run.”

“ _ Of course _ you were, my wild thing,” Sandalphon sighed. “But that’s all right. You just need a reminder of who owns you.”

Luca flinched when Sandalphon clicked his fingers, then looked at the archangel quizzically when nothing seemed to have happened. Sandalphon grinned and opened his palm. Crowley stood higher on his toes to get a look at what the bastard had created. It looked like a small gold cuff earring.

“I’ve been looking into how humans show ownership of their animals,” Sandalphon continued in a sickeningly calm voice. “Branding seems to be a big thing and although the thought does appeal to me, I’m not sure I could bring myself to permanently marr such beautiful skin.” Luca swallowed heavily, having tensed visibly at the mention of branding. “Tagging seems a better option, don’t you think? Livestock and the like get their ears tagged, don’t they?”

“I’m not livestock,” Luca grumbled quietly. 

“You’re what I say you are,” Sandalphon told him. “Now hold still.”

Luca did  _ not  _ hold still. He tried to struggle, twisting and growling and gnashing sharp teeth as Sandalphon tugged and pulled him down until he was kneeling on the incubus’ back. 

Crowley winced, knowing full well the archangel was toying with Luca. He could immobilize the incubus with a mere thought. And when Sandalphon decided he wanted both hands free, that’s what happened. Luca was held down by holy magic while the archangel lined the ear cuff where he wanted it and pushed it through the upper cartilage of Luca’s right ear. Luca shouted in painful protest, unable to even flinch at the punishment. Then Sandalphone rose to his feet and snapped his fingers, a flash of coppery light glowing into the metal of the cuff.

“There we are. You’re safely tethered to me now, Wolfie,” Sandalphon declared proudly.

“What… does that mean?” Luca panted, gingerly touching the cuff on his bloodied ear.

“It means you can go to Earth and to feed and do whatever you want,” Sandalphon told him happily, patting him on his head. “And there isn’t a single place on that horrible mudball of a planet where I won’t be able to find you in an instant whenever I want you.  _ This _ ,” he said, poking the cuff maliciously, “will see to it, while  _ also  _ warning other celestials whose property you are.”

Luca whined in fear and immediately tried to rip the cuff out, pawing at it with both hands until his fingers were red with blood. Sandalphon rolled his eyes. “Obviously you’re not going to be able to  _ take it off _ , Wolfie. What kind of tag would it be  _ then _ ? Now stop being silly and off you go.”

  
  


A snap of his fingers and just like that, Luca was gone. Crowley’s heart stuttered from the pain of it. Luca was gone, but he wasn’t  _ free _ . He’d  _ never  _ be free now. Crowley had failed to protect him. And now he was alone.

“Just you and me now, snake,” Sandalphon sang, summoning the cane into his hand. “You have my undivided attention.”

Crowley screamed in anguish before the cane even hit its mark.

*****

“Fuck,” Aziraphale muttered.

It was the second time he’d uttered such profanity in his existence but this situation was becoming so unendurably, agonisingly,  _ intolerable _ , it seemed to warrant the repeat offence. 

After all, if angels weren’t meant to swear then they  _ certainly  _ weren't meant to be rooting through demonology texts and studying _ how to summon a demon _ , and Aziraphale had already spent two days doing  _ that _ . 

Unfortunately, the books weren’t as helpful as Aziraphale had hoped. They focused on the containment of a demon, and as far as summoning went, most cast a dragnet to catch the nearest demon, which wouldn’t be helpful unless Aziraphale knew exactly where Crowley was.

Furthermore, Aziraphale had yet to come up with a contingency for if Crowley had indeed been discorporated as Gabriel suggested. What if he appeared in the circle  _ disembodied _ ? Could being pulled from Hell in such a state irrevocably harm him? What if Aziraphale unwittingly  _ destroyed  _ him?! It was all horribly complicated, and not his field of expertise, and he wished Crowley were there to assist him with this demonic rigmarole.

His stomach made a terribly rude sound and Aziraphale realized he hadn’t eaten in nearly a day. “Perhaps a bit of a nosh will revitalize me,” he sighed. “Lord knows, I can’t get any more lost for taking a quick break.”

He brought his notes and two books with him to the kitchen and looked through them as he made himself some toast with jam and a hot cup of tea. There would be a great deal of fussing over chants and reagents, and he’d have to make sure the circle was cast perfectly. Perhaps he should consult Anathema again? No, it wouldn’t do to involve the dear girl. What if something went wrong? What if he failed and called another demon into the circle? He couldn’t risk her getting hurt. 

And there was always the chance Anathema would talk him out of trying this at all. Aziraphale would march himself into Hell if he had to. He absolutely had to try everything in his power to find Crowley.

Aziraphale finished his last bite of toast and washed it down with earl grey, licking his fingers clean before turning a page. He smiled slightly at imagining the look of mock horror on Crowley’s face if he knew Aziraphale had bent his ‘no food around the old books’ rule. The old serpent did so love to tease.

He was pulled out of his reverie by someone banging their fist against the door of his shop. He startled, a hand pressed to his chest in alarm before jumping to his feet when the sound came again. The bookshop pulsed with energy, the wards warning him this wasn’t a human visitor. 

Aziraphale jogged down his steps, his heart in his throat. He knew it wouldn’t likely be Crowley. The demon was more than welcome and the shop would have granted him entry at once. Still there was the  _ possibility  _ that  _ perhaps  _ there was some confusion in the wards, or that this  _ could  _ have all just been some funny mistake. Crowley  _ might  _ be standing on his stoop, annoyed at having been kept waiting.

Worst case, it was some celestial here to kill him next. At least then Aziraphale might get answers. He ran up to the door and yanked it open without bothering to look through the window first. He was greeted by a sight so unexpected it was somewhat jarring.

Luca, of all sodding demons, stood anxiously on his stoop. He looked more than a bit rough for wear, bloodied, bruised and gaunt. The incubus cringed when Aziraphale narrowed his eyes in confusion, and his hands trembled when he reached into the pocket of his white joggers.

“I don’t know what you have there, Luca, but I’d recommend you remove it very slowly,” Aziraphale told the demon, hoping his voice sounded properly authoritative when he felt a hair’s breadth away from panic himself. 

Everything about this felt terribly wrong. The handsome dark haired man had clearly seen some poor treatment and Aziraphale’s instincts were to speak gently and clean his wounds. However, Luca’s being there wasn’t likely to be a coincidence, and neither was the fact that the gold earring in his swollen red ear practically screamed Sandalphon’s patronage. If Luca was an agent of Sandalphon and had harmed Crowley...

Luca cringed again at whatever must have passed across Aziraphale’s face. He stumbled back a step, his hand still hidden in his pocket. The incubus seemed to deliberate with himself, glancing over his shoulder with wild wide eyes as if considering if he should flee. 

“It’s all right,” Aziraphale told him gently. He didn’t trust the incubus, but he didn’t want him to run away either. Not until Aziraphale had answers. 

Luca drew his shaking hand out of his pocket and Aziraphale’s blood went cold.  _ Crowley’s wristwatch.  _ Aziraphale held his hand out and Luca dropped the watch into his palm, quickly plunging his hands back into the safety of his pockets.

“Please,” the incubus whispered, trembling terribly. “Please help us _. _ ”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning Spoilers: Crowley is flogged and there is some description of bleeding. Crowley is healed by Sandalphon and the holy energy is excruciating, so the act of healing is also part of the torture. Later Sandalphon uses a cane, enchanted with holy energy on Crowley, the most savage of these beatings is interrupted in the end.
> 
> Content Warning Spoilers (Non-con): Luca continues to be taken away for Sandalphon's various needs. He comes back with bruising suggesting he had been restrained. Luca doesn't provide any details, and seems dedicated to his using the archangel's lust to aid in their escape.
> 
> Your Kudos call another mandatory archangel meeting that just goes on and on, keeping Sandalphon trapped, listening to Gabriel talk for weeks.
> 
> Your comments politely suggest Aziraphale just go full BAMF and unleash Hell on the gold-toothed bastard.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale finds out what happened to Crowley and intends to bring him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: CW: This chapter includes a brief bit of graphic violence, but it is in the form of Sandalphon getting his ass kicked, so maybe that’s ok?
> 
> Aziraphale finds Luca highly suspicious . Don’t be too mad at the angel. From his point of view, Luca _does_ look highly suspicious and Aziraphale doesn’t have time to sort all that out.

Crowley had been the only demon ever to be welcomed into the bookshop and Aziraphale never imagined that changing. For one thing, Crowley was quite singular when it came to demons, and for another Aziraphale wasn’t particularly happy even opening his shop to  _ humans _ . So it felt more than a little strange when the angel had to drop his wards for a demon he barely knew and bring him inside the previously safe and comfortable space. It now felt quite a bit less comfortable, and abundantly less safe, although Aziraphale wasn't quite sure yet for whom.

Luca had seemed nearly faint with fear when Aziraphale had met him last, and he didn’t seem any braver now. He seemed to be making himself look as small as possible, sitting in the chair Aziraphale offered him, gripping his knees so tightly his knuckles went white. 

“Can I get you some tea, Mr…”

“Howell,” Luca answered automatically while shaking his head. “Just call me Luca. No thank you to the tea. I don’t want to impose anymore than I already am.. sir.”

Aziraphale watched Luca warily, trying to observe every detail as he directed the figity incubus into the back room. This demon knew something about Crowley’s disappearance, but that didn’t mean he could be trusted. In fact the earring he was now sporting in his bruised and bloody ear seemed to suggest the opposite. It all but screamed at Aziraphale to keep away, that Luca was the prized property of an archangel.  _ That _ had definitely not been there when he saw the demon last time.

“You work for Sandalphon,” Aziraphale stated accusingly. “And you have Crowley’s watch.”

Luca flinched at the stated facts as though only now realizing how incriminating it looked.

“He gave it to me,” Luca answered quietly, glancing quickly at Aziraphale’s hand, now holding the precious timepiece. “I just thought it would help you to have it somehow. Maybe you could use it to find him, or—"

“Or it would help me believe your story?”

“I need you to listen to me,” Luca told him urgently, finally daring to meet Aziraphale’s gaze. “I don’t know how much time I have. I don’t think he’s noticed I’m here yet but if he finds out I’m talking to you I’ll get summoned back.”

Aziraphale took a breath and moderated his tone. While this may, indeed, be part of some trap, the demon was clearly injured and unwell. He had come here and asked for help, and Aziraphale wasn’t the sort of angel who would deny a genuine request for succor.

“Alright. Let me heal you, and then I’ll listen to what you have to say,” he told the demon. 

“No!” Luca yelped, suddenly bolting to his feet. Aziraphale recoiled in surprise at the demon’s sudden motion, raising some holy power in defense, but Luca merely backed away from him, hands held out in a gesture of wary placation.

“No, _thank you_ " Luca amended, backing away another step. "It hurts more than the actual injury, please,” Luca continued, eyes wide with fear as he stared at Aziraphale’s glowing hands. “Holy energy doesn’t play nice with demons. Please. It hurts more than it helps.”

“I didn’t know,” Aziraphale told him, dropping his hands down to his sides and dismissing his power with a roll of the wrist. “But you look exhausted and hurt. How can I help you?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll heal up later when I find someone to feed from,” the demon answered, and Aziraphale frowned, unhappy at that particular prospect. He held his tongue though, priorities being as they were.

“Where is Crowley?”

Luca quickly explained what he knew about where he and Crowley had been kept and what Sandalphon wanted from his dearest friend. The incubus was less eager to part with the details concerning how Crowley had been lured into this trap and what the archangel had been doing to him since. He visibly cringed as he spoke as though fully expecting Aziraphale to kill the messenger.  If Aziraphale were less of an angel, Luca might have been in real danger of it. He listened with mounting horror, increasingly furious (although not particularly surprised) that a member of the host would be so cruel and conniving. 

“That’s everything I know,” the incubus told him quietly. “I have to get him out. I need your help. Please.”

“I will get him,” Aziraphale replied firmly. “He won’t be there a single day more.”

“I can help,” Luca said eagerly. “Please. I need to help.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes in suspicion at that. This felt like a trap. Luca had already admitted to luring Crowley into danger, although he claimed it was against his will. What if Sandalphon intended to get the jump on Aziraphale now, overpower him and pull out his secrets? 

“Forgive me, I don’t wish to be rude,” he told the demon as politely as he could manage. “What exactly will you be able to do to assist me in this?” 

Luca blushed, his shoulders drooping a little at the reminder of how outclassed he was. Aziraphale might have felt badly about it if he had the luxury of time or trust, but as it was he just wanted this demon out of his shop so he could get on with rescuing Crowley.

“I think I have the archangel partially enthralled,” Luca admitted reluctantly. “It’s probably the only reason he let me go to earth alone. He knew I had to feed and couldn’t risk letting me die but I was distracting him from… from his work so…”

Aziraphale frowned at this news and glanced at the little golden cuff decorating the demon’s swollen ear in the light of this new information. Sandalphon had taken Luca as a pet? It seemed almost ridiculous, but then, he couldn’t imagine the cruel archangel wanting to keep him as a servant in  _ any _ capacity. Sandalphon enjoyed smiting far too much. It was still more likely that he was using the incubus to trap him, and would destroy him as soon as he fulfilled his usefulness.

“I might be able to distract him again while you get Crowley free,” Luca continued, swallowing thickly at the thought of going back to his apparent master. “It's my fault Crowley is stuck up there. I have to get him out.”

“I understand why you might feel responsible,” Aziraphale sighed. “Although, if you’re telling the truth, you are not to blame for any of this.” He could see how Luca would have been easily overpowered by the archangel and used to lure Crowley into a trap. There was still the possibility that Luca was in cahoots with Sandalphon, but knowing the archangel’s penchant for violent cruelty it was just as likely that Luca had been broken, or his mind twisted. Either way, according to the earring, he was mostly certainly a servant of Sandalphon now. And the details of Luca’s supposed escape didn’t make a lick of sense. 

And yet, Crowley claimed to have trusted Luca, and Crowley did not trust lightly. Surely that meant the incubus couldn’t be willfully working with Sandalphon, didn’t it?

“I suppose we should count ourselves fortunate that Sandlaphon didn’t have you use your enthralling ability to force Crowley to give up his secrets,” he mused, watching Luca out of the corner of his eye.

“It doesn’t work that way, and even if it  _ did _ , I would  _ never  _ use my abilities on Crowley again,” Luca sighed. “I care about him too much. As terrifying as the archangel is, he couldn’t make me do that.”

“Again?” Aziraphale echoed, feeling that cold anger that came along with being proven right when you dearly hoped you were wrong. Luca’s eyes flew wide as he realized too late how badly he’d just mistepped. But misstep he had, and no amount of fretful fidgeting was going to distract Aziraphale now that he’d seen Luca’s true colours. Crowley's faith in the incubus made much more sense now. “You enthralled Crowley?”

“No!” Luca cried. He started towards Aziraphale, eyes now brimming with desperate tears but he pulled up short when Aziraphale resummoned his power, holding it in his hands at the ready.

“Do not lie to me,” Aziraphale growled, furious that this was happening. Furious that Crowley had been taken from him, that he’d been betrayed fellow angels yet again. That he had let his guard down and provided the opportunity for Crowley to have been stolen away.

And furious that Crowley’s only other friend was a liar. His faith in Luca was making more sense now.

“I mean, I did  **briefly** ,” Luca admitted through gritted teeth. “but I didn’t  _ mean _ to. Our powers just—”

"Perhaps there is more to this," Aziraphale interrupted, suspecting otherwise but not completely unwilling to consider someone's innocence. "But you were correct that time is of the essence,” Aziraphale concluded, deciding that the truth of Luca would have to wait. “I will find Crowley and bring him back. You will leave my shop and stay out of my way.”

“Please,” Luca pleaded. “I need to make sure he’s all right.”

“You are either working with Sandalphon, or you are under his thumb,” Aziraphale answered, letting some of the bitterness he was feeling out in his tone. He gave the earring another cold pointed look. “Either way you are a liability I can not afford.”

“But — “ Luca tried to argue once more, but Aziraphale was already moving, herding Luca back towards the door.

“I can handle this perfectly well on my own. I will not let Crowley spend another day in that prison,” he assured the incubus while opening the door. Luca quickly stepped through, clearly not wanting to force Aziraphale to shove him out the door, but he lingered on the stoop. “I don’t have any wish for you to be harmed, Mr. Howell, so it is best you stay clear of all this.” Aziraphale told him firmly. Luca opened and closed his mouth, clearly conflicted, before the incubus’ shoulders dropped in defeat. At that moment he looked so tired Aziraphale nearly felt sorry for him. It was an act the demon would no doubt be using on some poor unsuspecting person before long in hopes of securing a meal. 

“Mr. Howell,” Aziraphale called as the demon started away. Luca quickly turned back, expectantly. “It would probably be best if I don’t see you in Soho in the future. The people here are under my protection.

Luca paled, swallowing thickly.

“I… I understand,” he stammered, and for the first time, Aziraphale believed him.

******

Aziraphale needed a plan. One couldn't simply storm Heaven, seething with rage, and not expect to be swarmed by security. If he wanted to safely extricate Crowley, he'd need a very good plan indeed. Part of him lamented over the absence of said plan the whole ride up to Heaven, but truthfully Aziraphale couldn't bring himself to wait even one more second, even if it was foolhardy. He was too afraid, and much too furious to wait. He was about to storm Heaven.

Once he got past the front desk.

There was a different angel on duty today. Her grass green eyes widened as he stepped off the lift. "You're the Principality from Earth!" If Aziraphale didn't know better he'd think she looked excited.

"I need to see Sandalphon. Immediately," he told her, barely containing his anger. The angel blinked in surprise and then called up a screen before frowning.

"Oh, I'm afraid the archangels are currently busy in a meeting," she apologized. "You're welcome to wait, if you like. I hope you do. I have so many questions."

"No, I— questions? For me?" Aziraphale blurted, confused. The angel nodded eagerly.

"My friends and I are fascinated by Earth! Humans are so very interesting. I adore all the wonderful things they create," she gushed, her eyes shining. "And your work on Earth has been all the minor Host can talk about. Is it true you made  _ friends _ with a demon? Are they capable of loyalty? I hope they are. Oh, that's just so intriguing!"

Aziraphale blinked, completely derailed by the angel's enthusiasm. He finally was forced to raise his voice to be heard over her rambling.

"Excuse me!" 

She blushed beet red and started stammering apologies for her unprofessionalism. Aziraphale sighed.

"I would love to tell you all about my experiences on Earth, but I'm afraid my business is rather urgent."

"I suppose I could try to pull Sandalphon from the meeting…" the angel offered nervously. She clearly did not want to have to do that. And her sudden trepidation gave him an idea.

"On second thought, perhaps you could help me with something else," Aziraphale smiled, hoping he remembered how to perform a temptation. It had been a while. The angel's green eyes lit up at the prospect of being helpful.

"I'm afraid Sandalphon took something of mine and I really need it back," Aziraphale explained. "If you could direct me to his office, I'll wait for him there."

"Oh, of course," the angel chirped and Aziraphale inwardly cringed at how terrible this poor angel was at security. "Although he might be a while. Sandalphon has been spending quite a bit of time in his pocket dimension lately. He usually heads there after his meetings."

"Oh?" Aziraphale asked, extremely interested. The angel sensed his interest and preened at having been helpful once again. 

"Yes. He has a few of his own dimensions to keep all the prayers. They pile up, as you can imagine."

"Perhaps I could wait for him there?" Aziraphale suggested, sweating a bit at how close he was to finding Crowley. If he could get to him quickly, they might be able to make their escape before Sandalphon left the meeting. 

The angel’s smile faltered, no doubt finally becoming suspicious. Aziraphale tried to remain calm.

“Only, Sandalphon doesn’t like other people in his pocket dimensions…” the angel told him. “He requested complete privacy while he’s there.”

_ Oh I bet, the horrible rat. _

“Well then, you wouldn’t want to have to disturb him if he went directly there from his meeting as you said he is likely to,” Aziraphale reasoned. “And I’m sure you know I’m not supposed to tarry in Heaven long so someone would have to fetch him to let him know I was waiting on him.”

The angel groaned, and Aziraphale gave her an understanding smile. “Unless you’d prefer to call down now and let him know? I’m sure the archangels would understand the interruption...”

*****

_ Red and white are supposed to make pink. _

Crowley was still sitting in a crumpled heap where Sandalphon left him, staring at the spattered lines and pools of blood decorating his gleaming white cell, and his pain-addled brain just kept nattering the same thread of nonsense at him for what felt like twelve years.

_ Red and white are supposed to make pink. _

It didn’t look pink. It didn’t all look red anymore either, but none of it was the slightest bit pink.

“S’not mixing,” he slurred through his swollen lips. “Sss’not… you know… blending. Tha’s why.”

No one answered. Luca was gone. He’d been gone for a while, although Crowley had no idea how long. He now regretted giving the incubus his watch, although he wouldn’t likely be able to look at it anyway. One arm was badly broken, and the other was busy holding the broken one tightly to his body in a vain attempt to keep the pain down to merely agonizing.

His mouth was filled with a pervasive coppery tang and it turned his stomach. Unwilling to risk going through the ordeal of vomiting (again), Crowley braced himself and spit out the bloody phlegm. His swollen mouth conspired against him though and the result was nothing more than some embarrassing drool oozing down his chin. It dripped to the floor and Crowley arched a sardonic brow at the new mess.  _ There  _ was the pink.

“Sodding Luca,” Crowley grumbled. “Hurry up with your bleeding sex lunch and get back here already. I’m losing my mind here.”

He didn’t mean it, of course. Every minute the incubus was away from Sandalphon the better. Sometimes Crowley even entertained the thought that maybe Luca would go to Aziraphale for help. But Luca had spent more than a century avoiding the principality, and Sandalphon's treatment would hardly have lessened his terror of angels.

Which made it all the more shocking when Aziraphale stepped into his cell, raised hand aglow with the cold flame of holy might.

Crowley's exhausted brain didn't know what to react to first. Joy and relief at seeing his angel warred with suspicion and anger that this could be nothing but a cruel trick. And he frankly didn't know  _ what _ to feel about that radiant holy power filling the room, pricking at his skin like nettles. A burning itch, but nothing serious. Certainly nothing like he'd become used to. He couldn't help but think it would be much more intense if this were another trick to torment him.

He recoiled in shock, crying out in pain as the unconscious movement reignited the furious agony of his injuries. The conflicting emotions at Aziraphale's apparent arrival was just too much. Crowley broke, sobbing weakly as he collapsed at the angel's feet. Maybe he was a fool for it, but Crowley continued, even now, to have hope.

The scratchy irritation of the holy radiance winked out immediately, and Crowley felt a warm palm light on the back of his neck. The familiar scent of book dust and black tea mingled with the stink of blood and his own body odor. Crowley shook from the near-overwhelming comfort in that one touch. It made him want to laugh maniacally, and he might have done, if he had the energy. Instead he felt the heavy pull of sleep and forcefully blinked himself awake.

"Pleasssse," he whispered past blood-spattered lips.  _ Please be real _ .

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale gasped above him. There was a choking sound as though the angel were holding back his own tears. "My poor dear boy."

Crowley managed to lift his head, swaying slightly. Aziraphale was there, steadying him with a gentle hand. Tears streamed down soft pale cheeks from wide kind eyes. And behind him, stepping through the wall as silent as death, was Sandalphon.

"Angel…" Crowley mewled quietly, his battered hope extinguishing in the wet cold of this fresh terror. He wouldn't survive seeing Aziraphale hurt. He wouldn't.

"I know, my love," Aziraphale told him gently. "Rest a moment, dear."

" _My_ _love_?" Sandalphon mocked. "Really Aziraphale? Has this serpent actually convinced you he’s capable of such lofty emotions?”

Crowley winced. He’d tried to convince Aziraphale of the opposite for as long as he could remember, something that really shouldn’t have seemed as important to him as it suddenly did. And now he felt torn between confessing his true feelings to the angel while he still could, or denying them one more time in hopes of sending Aziraphale away where he’d be safe.

“Crowley’s intentions aren’t the ones you should be concerned about at the moment, Sandalphon,” Aziraphale replied flatly, his hazel eyes hardening with a fury Crowley hadn’t ever seen in them before. He stared up at his angel in utter incomprehension as Aziraphale pressed a gentle kiss to his brow before standing up and facing Sandalphon.

The archangel arched a brow, smirking smugly, but there was tension in the way he held himself now that hadn’t been there when he was beating Crowley or menacing Luca. Crowley remembered the way Sandalphon had scampered back with the other archangels when he’d blown the hellfire towards them while wearing Aziraphale’s lovely face. Crowley tried to smile through the ruin of his mouth. There might be a chance of Aziraphale bluffing their way to freedom. Aziraphale had been lying since Eden, and he was highly proficient in talking and talking.

But today, Aziraphale seemed to have no interest in talking. There was a crisp, almost businesslike snap of the fingers and Crowley found himself surrounded in a bubble of energy. Aziraphale’s wings unfurled in the very next instant, throwing a terrifying amount of holy energy into the room. Crowley screamed, his every instinct telling him he should have just been incinerated by the white hot light from those wings. And yet, the bubble around him dimmed it all like tinted glass, a shield protecting him from the brunt of Aziraphale’s wrath.

And wrath there was. Crowley rapidly blinked the spots from his eyes and saw that Sandalphon had been blown back against the far wall, the smug smile replaced with a grimace of shocked rage. 

“You dare strike an archangel?!” Sandalphon shrieked. “Beg for my mercy, you miserable traitor or I will unleash such pain upon you that you will beg the Almighty to let you Fall!”

Aziraphale actually snorted, a sound of such derision Crowley nearly did a double take. 

“You think I fear you, Archangel?” Aziraphale growled. “You believe you could lay a single finger on me?”

“ _ You _ certainly do,” Sandalphon sneered back. “You always cowered and stammered before me like the little mouse you are.”   
  


“Ah, but it was never just you before, was it Sandalphon?” Aziraphale asked coldly. “No. You’d always wait until you had Gabriel or Michael in tow before you’d risk throwing your weight around. Their might certainly surpassed that of a principality, but  _ yours _ ?”

Aziraphale let the question linger between them for a moment, corroding Sandalphon’s confidence like acid. The archangel gave a churlish little snort, a lame attempt at saving face, but Aziraphale’s words rang with truth and Crowley realized that Aziraphale  _ wasn’t bluffing _ . 

Aziraphale took a threatening step closer to the archangel, but Sandalphon stood his ground, glaring spitefully.

“You see, I once respected the hierarchy of Heaven,” Aziraphale told him, his voice dripping with frost. “I loathed the smug self-righteousness and poor manners, but I did as I was bid and respected my superiors because I believed in my heart that Heaven was good and right.” Aziraphale laughed then, a mirthless, angry sound that echoed in Crowley’s heart. The bitterness flowing off his angel was strange and disturbing. It might have been more alarming if it wasn’t also so  _ just _ .

Because it held notes of everything Crowley had felt about Heaven, and Aziraphale’s blind faith in it, since the Beginning. Because this was something Crowley would have once gotten off on hearing the angel say, but now only felt bleak sadness that Aziraphale’s faith had been shattered, and how much that must have hurt him.

“But you were  _ never _ my superior, Sandalphon,” Aziraphale continued. “So perhaps you ought to heed your own advice concerning mercy, let us go quietly, and never bother Crowley or myself again.”

Crowley looked from Aziraphale, terrifyingly still and bitter cold, to Sandalphon who was fairly vibrating in humiliated rage. 

“You can go,” Sandalphon snarled. “The demon stays.”

“Crowley is coming with me,” Aziraphale countered. “And I will not ask again.”

“No,” the archangel spat. “I have questions I want answ— “

Crowley blinked, a startled gasp escaping his lungs when his gentle sweet timid angel abruptly hauled off and smashed his fist into Sandalphon’s horrible mouth. 

The punch was as brutal as it was unexpected and the archangel was thrown off his feet by the momentum, a spray of blood and spit staining his collar and coat. The archangel hadn’t yet recovered from the first blow before an uppercut lifted him off his feet entirely. Sandalphon landed heavily on his back and something skittered across the bloody floor toward Crowley before hitting the barrier protecting him. He stared at the gold tooth in amazement. 

“If you ever —  _ ever!  _ — touch Crowley again,” Aziraphale roared, eyes aflame with holy wrath. “I will burn the divinity out of you and send you to the pit myself!”

“Holy shit,” Crowley whispered, trembling with unspeakable emotion at such a vile threat coming from such a sweet creature. 

Sandalphon shrank away from the enraged principality, lifting a bloodied hand in a weak gesture of surrender. Crowley’s heart was beating so quickly he felt faint from it all. So when the walls suddenly flung themselves outwards, and the air crackled with power as the Archangel-Fucking-Gabriel decended upon them — wings ablaze in holy fire— to break up the fight, Crowley’s mind gave up the ghost and plunged him into the solace of unconsciousness.

*****

Aziraphale’s anger ebbed slightly at an epoch-spanning instinct to demur in Gabriel’s presence. In his defense though, Aziraphale had seldom seen God’s Messenger look this angry. Gabriel had been furious in the Tadfield airbase when he and Crowley had thwarted the Great Plan, certainly, but everyone had been doing their blessed damndest to keep control of themselves while so close to the enemy. 

Now, however, Gabriel was most certainly, as they say, ‘losing his shit’.

“Aziraphale! What the absolute fuck are you doing?!” he demanded, placing himself firmly between Aziraphale and Sandalphon. Aziraphale drew himself up, tucking his wings away in a respectful manner to show that he, at least, knew some basic courtesy, and because he didn’t relish the idea of giving Gabriel the impression he meant  _ him  _ harm. “We were leaving you alone!” Gabriel continued to shout at him. “Why are you up here messing with my people?!”

Aziraphale felt himself go cold once more, exactly as he had when Sandalphon refused to free Crowley. He glared angrily at the archangels and took a shaky breath before counting to ten.

“Gabriel,” he said finally, his voice tight with barely restrained rage. “Does  _ that  _ look like we were being left alone to you?”

He pointed accusingly at Crowley and Gabriel followed the gesture, his angry violet eyes widening in surprise. Trusting he was no longer about to be attacked, Aziraphale finally risked looking away from the other angels and saw that his poor beloved Crowley had passed out cold on the befouled floor. His heart broke all over again, cooling his anger and once again prioritizing Crowley’s safety over his own desire for revenge.

Gabriel gaped at the crumpled demon, his face morphing from shock to disgust as he took in the sorry state of him, and the blood spattered and pooled about the room. It was a picture that even Gabriel could not ignore or gaslight away. 

“You tried to convince me Crowley had been discorporated,” Aziraphale accused him bitterly. “I know we never exactly got on, Gabriel, but I didn’t take you for a liar.”

Gabriel’s looked back at Aziraphale in surprise at the accusation, and there, written plainly in the archangel’s expression was the truth. He hadn’t lied. It was worse. Sandalphon had done this right under his nose and the great Gabriel didn’t have the slightest idea.

“Oh I see,” Aziraphale muttered coldly. “How terribly embarrassing for you.”

“Sandalphon,” Gabriel growled, not taking his wary eyes off Aziraphale. 

“Yes,” Sandalphon staggered to his feet, refusing to meet Aziraphale’s gaze. “I’ll be all right. He surprised me, that’s all.”

“Sandalphon. What is the demon Crowley doing in your filing dimension?” Gabriel asked coldly, finally turning his angry eyes on the other archange. “Besides bleeding all over the place?”

“I… wanted to ask him some questions, concerning the trials,” Sandalphon answered anxiously. He rubbed his jaw painfully before snapping his fingers and healing himself up with a miracle. Part of Aziraphale itched to rebloody his smug horrible face, but that wasn’t his priority, nor was it behaviour befitting an angel.

But if he was ever given the chance again… He narrowed his eyes at the horrid archangel, cementing his resolve to do whatever it took to keep Crowley safe.

“We agreed to leave the traitors alone,” Gabriel reminded him. “You agreed to leave the traitors alone. You’re making me look bad in front of the traitors, Sandalphon.”

Sandalphon swallowed thickly, his dark beady eyes wide with trepidation. There was something immensely satisfying about seeing someone else on the business end of Gabriel’s ire. Especially when it was so richly deserved.

“I’ve no interest in causing you any further trouble,” Aziraphale declared firmly, standing resolute against Gabriel’s cold stare when it turned back to him. “I came to get Crowley out of this … torture chamber, and that is all.”

“Then take the demon and go in peace,” Gabriel demanded. Aziraphale snorted and shook his head, taking a perverse pleasure in Gabriel’s surprise at his refusal.

“Now that you see with your own eyes what has happened here — something more befitting the denizens of Hell than holy servants of the Almighty— I need some sort of assurance this will not happen again. You’re clearly not able to keep your house in order, Gabriel.”

“Oh, this shit is  _ not  _ happening again,” Gabriel spat. He glared at Sandalphon again for a moment before straightening his suit and clearing his throat. Gabriel closed his eyes, summoning his divine power, and when he opened his eyes again they shone with might of his immense halo. Gabriel spoke and Heaven shook with the power of his words formed a Holy Decree that would be heard by every celestial servant of Heaven. 

**The Archangels Gabriel and Michael will be immediately alerted henceforth if the Principality Aziraphale and Demon Crowley appear in Heaven or any domains under its purview.**

Gabriel skewered Sandalphon with another glare then and added:

**It would be a super good idea for such future visits to be pre-approved in fucking triplicate.**

The decree burned itself into place in the ether around them. Sandalphon winced slightly as the decree singed itself into mind. Aziraphale did as well, although he managed to cover it in his concern as he bent to gather Crowley up in his arms. 

It seemed that Someone still considered him a servant of Heaven. That was a concern for another time.

“Will that suffice?” Gabriel asked him, although he was still staring daggers at Sandalphon.

“I’ll take my leave,” Aziraphale answered, refusing to even suggest gratitude for something that shouldn’t have been necessary in the first place. “I trust you have other matters to attend to.”

“I do indeed,” Gabriel replied grimly. He and Sandalphon vanished. Aziraphale gingerly shifted Crowley’s slight weight in his arms, before bending to pick up the bloody gold tooth off the floor. The decree might well protect them from Sandalphon in the future, but Aziraphale had learned better than to take these matters on faith. 

It never hurt to have a powerful reagent on hand when planning to strengthen your wards.

*****

Crowley woke gradually, swimming up towards consciousness as if through warm dark water. Pain blossomed slowly at the periphery, and the demon instinctively shied away from the sharpness, retreating back into the darkness, the illusion of safety found in sleep.

He was roused sometime later by a comforting scent, a familiar sound. He swam back up toward wakefulness. Cold surrounded him, his arm ached horribly. He shivered and dove down, away, under and gone.

He slept until he couldn’t stand anymore sleeping. That was a rare experience in and of itself, and yet, something was urging Crowley to wake, pulling him up through the water by his scales. He groaned as the pain resurfaced, slicing across his awareness like the whack of a burning cane.

“Crowley,” a warm voice beckoned. “I made your favourite tea. Here, let me help you sit up.”

“Nnngle?” he slurred, confused and wary. He blinked his eyes open and Aziraphale’s blurry face loomed above him, warm hands lifting him carefully, propping him up against a small mountain of pillows. Crowley blinked again, slowly taking in his new surroundings.

“Thhhhe sssshop?” He asked, dazed. It smelled warm and comfortably familiar.

“My flat above the shop,” Aziraphale answered quietly, his voice pitched low as though afraid to startle Crowley. “You’re safe here, dear. Here. Try some tea if you can.”

Crowley blinked a third time, confused. He let Aziraphale tip the porcelain cup to his lips and took a slightly stinging sip of the warm tea. It flooded his mouth, washing it clean of the bitter taste of blood and bile. Crowley moaned and it sounded pitiful to his own ears. He couldn’t help it. The weak, nearly tepid and overly sweet tea was possibly the best thing he’d ever tasted. He tried to lean forward to get more and gasped as a fresh wave of agony hit him.

“Easy dear,” Aziraphale cautioned him (a bit late). The cup returned to his lips and Crowley swallowed the tea eagerly, and his pride with more difficulty. He pulled himself out of his stupor, bit by aching bit, until he was able to make sense of his situation. 

He was, indeed, in Aziraphale’s flat and lying on his bed if the tartan bedspread was any indication. He was stripped to his pants, his injuries cleaned and bandaged, his broken arm splinted and heavily wrapped.

He hurt, badly, and he felt strangely comforted by that. It meant this wasn’t a dream.

“Can you try to heal yourself now, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked in that careful tone he used when he was terribly anxious about something and trying to appear calm. Crowley frowned at him and cast his healing miracle without success. His frown deepened as he concentrated on keeping the panic at bay while he reached deep inside himself, searching for his infernal powers. He felt them there, burning like embers inside his marrow, and yet he couldn’t spin them into magic.

“It may take some time, dear,” Aziraphale soothed when Crowley couldn’t contain his anxious whine. “You’ve suffered a number of holy wounds, and you’re completely exhausted. It isn’t unheard of for a demon’s powers to be… suppressed.”

“Ssssuppressed,” Crowley hissed, screaming at himself not to start crying like a child. “I don’t want them to be suppressed!”

“Well no. I shouldn’t think you would,” Aziraphale agreed. “But you needn’t fuss, Crowley. I assure you it is only temporary. You’ll be back to whisking up senseless mayhem in no time.”

“Hhhurtsss,” Crowley whimpered, then flinched, scowling at himself. He hadn’t meant to say that. Aziraphale tisked and sighed and fluffed a pillow.

“I know, dear,” the angel murmured. “It has taken every bit of my self control to keep from using my power to heal you. I understand it might cause you even more distress than you’re currently in.”

Crowley nodded quickly. He’d had his fill of angelic healing. Given the choice, he’d prefer to wait however long it took to heal the human way rather than subject himself to  _ that  _ again.

He felt himself pout and couldn’t seem to find the energy to make himself stop. He looked down at his broken body instead, taking in the care with which he’d been cleaned and bandaged. There were several ice packs fighting the swelling around his arm and ribs. An electric blanket kept his back warm. 

“You were shivering,” Aziraphale shrugged in answer to his questioning look. “I’m afraid the ice packs are going to need to be reapplied frequently to keep your swelling under control. At least until your powers come back and you can heal yourself.”

“You put me in a heated blanket though, to try to keep me comfortable,” Crowley mumbled, picking at the electrical cord with his good hand. Of course the angel did. The gesture caused something to uncomfortably lump up in his throat.

“Sandalphon…” Crowley growled, changing the subject. “Gabriel came and —”

“Yes, it’s all sorted now,” Aziraphale told him quickly. “We’ll talk more about it when you’ve had something to eat and rested up a bit more. For now, please just know that Sandalphon will not be bothering us again for a while. I’ll keep you safe while you sleep.”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale. The angel was back to his old self. Compassionate and comforting. He’d been something else before though. Fierce and a bit frightening. He’d been a soldier, a fighter. He’d punched Sandalphon’s face nearly inside out.

“You punched Sandalphon,” Crowley whispered, again without meaning to. Bloody hell, he really was knackered.

“I’m afraid I did,” Aziraphale admitted, as though it was something shameful. “I was exceedingly angry.”

“Angel, I don’t want to send mixed messages here but…” Crowley swallowed, savoring the memory of Aziraphale’s blazing eyes, his fist coming away bloody as he fought to protect him. “I gotta say, that might have been the sexiest thing I’ve seen in my very long life.”

Aziraphjale blushed, and cleared his throat. Crowley reached for the tea cup and took a sip on his own in hopes of hiding his own flushed cheeks. That had been too much. That wasn’t a good idea at all.

“I will… keep that in mind,” Aziraphale told him quietly. “I’m not sure I needed another reason to beat the tar out of that terrible excuse for an angel, but it is a...compelling one.”

Crowley’s cheeks burned even warmer and he drained his cup. How comforting it was to suddenly find himself in a spot where unintentional flirting was his greatest danger.

Aziraphale brought him some warm buttered toast and refilled his tea, and read poetry to him while Crowley slowly filled his stomach with something other than dread and loathing. He listened to the soft voice, watching the angel’s lips and tongue wrap around stanzas and verses until his eyes grew too heavy to argue with. 

He floated down into slumber, surrounded by softness and warmth and the voice that reminded him of how even demons could love.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is back safe! We’re in the home stretch now friends!
> 
> Your kudos gently sing Crowley to sleep. Your comments fortify Aziraphale for the long bout of caretaking ahead.


End file.
